He's Not Normal
by Uncle Stojil
Summary: Harry Potter goes back in time and has to start everything again. Do you think he will be careful not to screw the timeline up? No, he doesn’t even think about it! A story featuring a loony Harry and a Magical World that seems willing to adapt to him.
1. The Dive

Warning – English is not my first language and I have no beta right now, so if you see some mistakes let me know what and where they are. If you don't see them, go find a pair of glasses or some English vocabularies and grammar books, because you're either blind or ignorant. Hell, there are probably some mistakes in this warning! Or maybe in this last sentence… or in this one… or in this one… or in this one… I think you got it.

Disclaimer – If by reading this story, you find elements that are similar and/or about something you wrote, then you are either JKR (who owns the Harry Potter Universe by the way) or another fanfiction author who I chose to compliment, criticize or mock somewhere in here. Enjoy.

Chapter 1: The Dive

"I'm telling you it exists!"

"No, it doesn't!"

"Yes, it does!"

"No, it doesn't!"

"It does!"

"It doesn't!"

The bickering continued that way for a little while at the small table in the Hog's Head. The bartender and the other patrons watched in amusement the young man's and young woman's antics. It was a scene you could stumble upon almost every night at the little pub in Hogsmeade.

A scene that involved one Harry Potter and one Luna Lovegood.

And if you're thinking that it was the latter the one who thought that _it exists_, then you're soundly mistaken. That serves as a lesson to you not to judge with too little information.

"Luna, it exists!" said Harry vehemently after taking another sip of his butterbeer. An argument with a Lovegood can be quite drying.

"Oh, shush Harry. There's no such thing as this so called G spot," answered the young woman with a dismissing wave of her hand.

"It exists and I'm ready to prove it to you anytime!" retaliated Harry who in the name of science would have done it, and quite gladly to be honest…

Luna stared at him with her gazed and large blue eyes for a moment as if trying to come to a decision. "You had your chance ten years ago, Harry, but-"

"I wasn't ready at the time! I was too young! Now I'm sure I could find it," interrupted the young man with a slightly desperate tone in his voice.

Aberforth Dumbledore just shook his head and sighed, a faint smile playing on his lips. He watched the two twenty-seven years old go on and on about perplexing and foolish stuff with disarming seriousness. It was really amusing. Everyone in the pub stared at them like a sort of entertaining show, and in a way, it was.

From well before the demise of You-Know-Who, Harry Potter had started acting... well, strangely. Someone said it was because of the death of his godfather, Sirius Black, later found innocent of all the charges for which he was previously put in Azkaban. Others said it was because of the possession of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the Ministry Atrium. Others blamed the pressure when the prophecy was revealed to the Magical World after the fall of the Dark Lord by Harry Potter's hand. But these were just assumptions. The fact remained.

Harry Potter was crazy. Crazy, insane, nuts, bonkers... loony, whatever you want to call him.

The Loony Couple. That's how he and Luna Lovegood were called nowadays, much to his amusement. She... nobody knows if she knows.

"Sprite is better than Coca Cola. Don't you know that, other than its marvellous taste, it has medical properties too?" said Harry in again another apparently meaningless and incomprehensible argument, at least for the wizards and the witches in the pub. "And if you use it on your body after a shower, your magic begins to fizzle and your next shaving charm will be two times more powerful," continued the young man nodding.

Luna pointed her forefinger at his muscular chest and began to tap it. "How many times have I to tell you not to use a shaving charm? Every time you do, a poor innocent Sphinx dies. Not even a clap can save it," said the young woman with a reprimanding tone. She withdraw her finger and took her butterbeer before continuing "And you have yet to tell me what you use that charm for."

"That's none of your business," replied Harry a little defensively. Then he seemed to rethink about what she had previously said and he as well began to tap at her chest, exactly on her left nipple. "And how many times have I to tell you to bring a Sphinx here so we can test this theory of yours? I won't believe it otherwise."

"It's not a theory. It's a fact," answered Luna, expressionless despite Harry's taps on her left nipple hadn't stopped when he had finished speaking. "That's not going to honk, Harry."

Harry didn't seem convinced and kept on touching it with a steady rhythm and a concentrated face. After a while he stopped, puzzled.

"What about the right one?"

Aberforth Dumbledore and many others at the pub just shook their heads.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Harry and Luna apparated in the backyard of her house, the sound of the little stream on the other side welcoming them. The moon shined over the weird rook, making appear its black outer walls less menacing.

Once there, Luna took shaky steps towards the house backdoor. For a moment, Harry thought she was staggering because of Apparition, although it was the first time he had seen her having problems with it, but after a while, she continued swaying like that.

"Luna, what are you doing?"

She turned around on unsteady feet. "I'm acting as if I was drunk," slurred Luna.

"And why is that?" slurred in reply Harry, always ready to jump in whichever game she started. He too took a shaky step forward and swayed slightly.

"It's a game between Daddy and I," answered Luna giggling sillily in a perfect imitation of a drunk girl.

"You are very, very crazy," slurred Harry again, and the sentence would have made snort anyone who could have heard, if there was anyone except Luna in that backyard. The pot, the kettle and all that...

"Do you want to do a very, very crazy thing?" asked the young woman with a silly grin on her face.

"Sex?" asked Harry hopefully.

Harry and Luna were just friends, best friends probably, and they wanted to remain that, but there was this little game between the two. Harry would flirt shamelessly with her and Luna would refuse every time. There had been that one-night sex almost ten years before, but that was it. They were just friends, really. And a certain Auror, best known as She-Who-Must-Not-Be-First-Named, was happy to hear it at every possible occasion. She was a little jealous of Luna and her friendship with Harry, arriving at the point of occasionally be jealous of her... err, let's say 'state of mind'. However, much to Tonks' relief, Harry always joked around saying that one loony in a relationship was more than enough and that with two it couldn't work. Obviously and concerning Harry, fortunately, the Auror doesn't know of this little game between the Man-Who-Vanquished and the Lovegood lady.

"While tempting... and while I'm drunk, I have to say no," was Luna's more or less foretold answer. She staggered towards Harry and reached his shoulders with her hands to steady herself. She grinned again, her large dreamy eyes at not more than two inches from his.

"My great granddaughter told me something," she whispered excited. "She told me:" and here Luna cleared her voice before attempting a deep, supposedly mysterious tone, "The most important moment awaits under the shack."

Harry seemed to not be affected neither by the words nor by her baritonal voice. Instead he asked with an interested, if slightly groggy, expression "When did you meet your great granddaughter?"

"I didn't meet my great granddaughter. That's impossible," she replied clearly perplexed, watching him like he was crazy for asking that question and temporary forgetting her drunkenness.

"Oh. Okay."

"Anyway," Luna continued, regaining the slurred speech "I think she was talking about the shed over there." The young woman pointed at a small shack, a little on the right of her house. She then started to make her way towards it, occasionally tripping over something and shushing herself between giggles. Harry followed suit, unsteady as well, glancing often at the speck of blond of Luna's hair.

They reached the wooden door and she gently opened it. Inside, it was really dark. She pulled out her wand and whispered "_Lumos_." Once she had shushed herself again, she entered the shack and made her way between all the things in there.

Harry walked interested a step behind, looking at everything, but not daring to touch anything. There was the most weird stuff, magical probably, and even some Muggle objects such as pens, an entire bucket of erasers, bicycle wheels, an apparently broken liquidizer, and on top of that, quite literally, there was what Harry recognized through his drunkenness as a dildo, much to his astonishment. He stayed warily away from it and followed Luna closely.

The young woman didn't seem to pay any attention to the things piled up in the small shack. She knew where to go and after a few seconds, she stood in the middle of the shed. Looking down, Harry saw a sort of trapdoor, semi-hidden by a dusty box.

"Under the shack..." murmured the young man fascinated and Luna turned towards him grinning.

They moved the wooden box and had the first good look at the trapdoor. Nothing fancy, really, just a normal hatch on the floor, but their excitement did not falter in the slightest, rather it increased.

Luna snatched the brass looking handle and pulled. The trapdoor opened with little resistance and left in its place a pitch black hole. It was completely lightless, an unsearchable darkness. Not even when Harry added the light of his wand to Luna's one, there was something visible.

Feeling brave, like the good Gryffindor he was, Harry _inserted_ his left hand in the hole. It disappeared immediately in the darkness and he hastily pulled it back, startled. He watched warily the entrance and then Luna's smirk.

"Want to say something?" said the young man with a slight warning tone in his voice as she just snickered.

Harry found himself thinking about the young woman. Grinning, snickering, smirking... those weren't acts the 'old' Luna would have done so naturally in the past. It was like she was a little more _round_, now. It was a weird thought, reflected Harry who didn't even know where it came from.

"The most important moment..." she said once she was straight-faced again, all the signs of the faked drunkenness gone.

The two of them stared at the darkness on the floor for some minutes. After a while, Harry turned towards Luna, a little mischievous smile playing on his lips.

"A very, very crazy thing you said, hmmm?"

"Yes."

"Ladies first?"

She just smiled. "I'll just watch for now."

"As you wish." Harry bowed in a perfect imitation of a normal House Elf, and not a barmy one who would have hugged her leg and wailed something like 'Miss Luna Lovegood, Miss!' instead, and then dismissed himself with a grave "Madame."

He turned again towards the mysterious entrance of the trapdoor and studied it for just a second, a smile on his lips and a gleam in his eyes.

Luna Lovegood watched him jump quite recklessly inside the pitch black hole and disappear completely, the light from his wand with him.

She sighed softly.

"He's not normal."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Harry Potter found himself in a motionless dive. He couldn't describe it in other ways. It wasn't an unpleasant experience. He wasn't floating and he didn't have the feet solidly on some kind of ground. He was definitely falling, but without moving. Nothing specifically gave him the sensation of a dive. No wind to ruffle his hair and clothes, no oncoming bottom, no reference points whatsoever. It was just that: a sensation. A sensation that didn't involve the senses, if that was even possible. He found it a really hard thing to explain, despite his brilliantly crazy mind... and modesty.

It seemed like falling all right, but not through space. Maybe through time? Well, it made sense considering that the thing that supposedly awaited under the shack was a moment, and the most important one, to be exact.

He had long let the light on the tip of his wand extinguish, because it was of no use. The blackness was impenetrable. All he could see was his body and his holly stick that he held tightly. He somehow knew that if he had let it go, his wand would have not ended up where he was directed to.

Suddenly, the silence that till that moment was almost deafening, broke.

It started a soft hiss, backed by a stronger sound, like a sort of whistle. For a moment he thought of wind, because on top of the noises, he _felt_ his skin. However, he quickly noticed that it was something more.

Harry lifted his right arm in front of his face and saw it changing. It was strange, unsettling in a certain way. First of all, he held no control over this transformation. Secondly, his clothes were changing as well and again without a control whatsoever. And finally and more importantly, it was happening to his magic too.

Awed, he experienced his body shrink and slim, he saw his clothes stretch and reshape, he felt his magic sway and vibrate.

It all lasted for about a minute maybe, and as suddenly as the transformation had started, it ended, leaving him a skinny boy of about ten years. The silence wrapped him again, but just for another second.

The next minute the dive ended and he landed graciously on a ground.

He felt something in his hand, saw lights from his right side, heard soft voices not far away from him, smelt the delicious fragrance of beacon, eggs and some kind of syrup in his nostrils.

'_Blueberries'_ was the first thought that appeared in his mind.

He then looked around the room where he had arrived. It was perfectly ordinate and awfully familiar.

The Dursley's entrance hall.

A puzzled frown made its way on his face, but when he looked into his right hand, it quickly was replaced by a wide smile. Together with his wand, he held a package of letters in his little hand, and on top, a very well-known one addressed to a certain _Mr. H. Potter – the Cupboard under the Stairs_.

Was this 'the most important moment', _his_ most important moment? Did he really come back in time, almost seventeen years in the past? Had he to redo everything again?

He stashed his wand and the Hogwarts letter in his hand me down clothes' pocket, while the smile on his face widened even more.

"Wicked."

After a second, he seemed to think about something and the smile morphed into a frown. He brought his left hand to his lower region and felt it up. His very little fingers closed themselves on a very little thing.

Harry Potter groaned slightly.

"Sorry Tonksy," he said under his breath, but there was a smile on his lips once again.


	2. Differences

Warning – English is not my first language and I have no beta right now, so if you see some mistakes let me know what and where they are. If you don't see them, go find a pair of glasses or some English vocabularies and grammar books, because you're either blind or ignorant. Hell, there are probably some mistakes in this warning! Or maybe in this last sentence… or in this one… or in this one… or in this one… I think you got it.

Disclaimer – If by reading this story, you find elements that are similar and/or about something you wrote, then you are either JKR (who owns the Harry Potter Universe by the way) or another fanfiction author who I chose to compliment, criticize or mock somewhere in here. Enjoy.

Chapter 2: Differences

Harry Potter entered the kitchen with a big grin on his face. That alone put a stop to the Dursley's breakfast. Yes, even Dudley's. The large boy halted with his closed mouth full of food and with the fork in mid-air ready to stab another piece of pancake. Unfortunately for him and for anyone who happened to look, the disgusting slime of syrup and egg under his lower lip didn't halt at all. It kept on slipping though his fat chin with a very slow but very steady rhythm.

Harry sat on his usual chair and put the mail on the table, near his Uncle. He proceeded to eat his breakfast that consisted in an almost empty plate. The general atmosphere of the room was one of confusion at the very least, but it only lasted for a few seconds. Then Harry started humming to himself.

"What have you done boy?" Vernon snapped finally, sure that the little brat had done something wrong or worse… something funny.

Harry moved his gaze from his plate to his Uncle's everpurple face, the smile still on his lips despite his soft singing had just been interrupted. "Oh, I simply traveled back in time, Uncle."

Now, put yourself in poor Vernon's shoes. You're already confused because that freak of your nephew, who has absolutely no reason to smile or hum, is smiling and humming. You're already bewildered because after your obvious demonstration of power, the ingrate bastard still has a grin on his face. So, what can you do in answer to his answer?

You can just snap again.

"Do not talk about such nonsense, boy! In the cupboard, now! And you won't leave it until I say otherwise!"

Harry didn't lose his smile nor stood up.

"I don't think so, dear Uncle. I'm about to give you the best present you'll ever receive." He paused and looked everyone present in the eyes. "After breakfast I'll just go away so you will be free from my useless and ungrateful…" he seemed to search for a specific word, before smiling even more broadly and saying, "bratness."

Vernon was speechless and this time snapping wasn't even an option! He took a quick look at his wife searching for help but he found only a very pale face, very wide eyes, and very thin lips. No help from her. Maybe Dudders? The man glanced at his lovely son but found him with a confused expression on his face and a confusing mess on the very tip of his round chin. Vernon quickly looked away and shook his head slightly. No help there neither.

So he was forced to think. It was an unpleasant experience… It was as if something was in his head. There were words and they made sense in an ungrammatical but comprehensible way.

_The boy. Away._

He opened his mouth and the only sound that came out was…

"Okay."

That sound was quickly followed by a splashing one greatly amplified by the silence that pervaded the kitchen.

The slimy mush had finally abandoned Dudley's chin and now rested on the table, immensely grateful that the little pig had finally let it go by opening his mouth in shock.

Harry actually heard it thanking him.

"No problem," he answered starting to eat again.

Things were going smoothly.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Harry exited number 4 Privet Drive not long after breakfast. It would have happened earlier if his Aunt hadn't asked so many questions. That really was unexpected. 'Where are you going?', 'What happened?' and 'When will you come back?' were questions that made absolutely no sense to him coming from her. Harry replied with some of his own. 'Why do you care?', 'Why are you bothering me?' and 'Did you see my favorite socks? You know, the green ones with all those cute little bears?' He was ready to postpone his departure to find those socks, but fortunately he found out he was wearing them already. Finally at peace, he just made his way towards the door and without another glance at his relatives, he opened it and walked out. He somehow found the time to charm their refrigerator to not open for some days. Well, more like some weeks actually.

Skipping in front of the all too normal houses in Little Winging, Harry soon reached the small park who had witnessed to a lot of 'happy endings' of the little game known as 'Harry Hunting'. He went directly to the swing, seated on it, and started pushing with his feet. It was a good way to think, albeit on a broom it was far better. The wind ruffled his already messy hair and he closed his eyes, relaxed.

He stayed there for about twenty minutes, oscillating on the swing under the hot summer sun.

For a while, he concentrated on his magic. He had felt it change during his travel in time, but he hadn't been able to grasp exactly how. Now that he wasn't shocked, confused or fascinated anymore, he understood. His magic had simply adapted to his new/old – body. It wasn't different, just less developed. He tried a few basic spells and found them easy enough.

The experiments ultimately proved another point. The Ministry could not detect when he used his magic. The absence of Hopkirk's owls in the immediacies told him so, especially considering he had used his wand on the refrigerator at the Dursleys' house too. Harry had never cared about this issue in the past, but now the evidence and his experiences were blending together to form a theory.

He had received a warning about his use of underage magic only two times in his life: when Dobby had performed the hovering charm on Petunia's pudding before his second year and when he had casted his Patronus in order to protect himself and Dudley from the Dementors before his fifth year. But those two were not the only times he had used magic outside of school before his seventeenth birthday. He clearly remembered that time he had found himself on the school roof when Dudley and his gang were chasing him, or that time his hair were long again despite the previous day his Aunt had given him a ridiculously short cut. So the only Ministry letter he had actually received because of his magic, was when he had used his wand to perform the Patronus charm.

The wand was the key.

It made sense. The Ministry could only detect underage magic through one's wand. For what concerns the letter caused by Dobby's stunt… who knows what are the powers of a House-Elf? That barmy little guy could have _faked_ or _simulated_ Harry's wand magic. The now little boy made a mental note to get some information about elf magic. He really had a lacuna there.

Anyway, this wand here, the one he held in his hand right now, the one he had just used without repercussions, could not be detected because at the moment it belonged to no one.

No Harry Potter had entered Ollivander's shop and bought it. No Harry Potter had been somehow registered as the owner of this holly and Phoenix feather wand at the Ministry.

Yet, at least.

The thought brought to his mind his Hogwarts letter, lost somewhere in the all too large pockets of his hand-me-down trousers. He had to answer, positively of course, and then go to Diagon Alley for his school supplies. But first of all he had to quit with the swing. The thing was quite addictive.

He already knew where to go. He had decided it immediately after Uncle Vernon had snapped at him the first time. Harry was ready for Number 12 Grimmauld Place. There was no way he could stay at Number 4. The house was infested by the Dursleys, hellish creatures characterized by nauseating physical traits, boring lifestyles and an odd devotion to all that is clean and normal. No, thanks. A house infested by Doxies, Boggarts and probably Nargles was more appealing. Its wards didn't represent a problem because he was already keyed to them. In fact, to additionally protect the house when it was decided to use it as the Headquarters after Sirius' escape from Azkaban, Dumbledore had been keyed in, in order to perform the Fidelius charm. Said charm had to embody the wards around the Black house to work, so when the secret of the Fidelius was revealed to Harry, he was also keyed to them.

But that was not the point. The point was that Number 12 had been his _precious_ home in his _previous_ life. Why shouldn't it be in his new one too?

The same argument could have been used regarding Privet Drive as well, but everybody knows Number 4 doesn't count… right?

Harry jumped out from the swing and onto the ground. The park seemed deserted, but he cautiously reached the protection of a group of cherry-trees before disapparating. He came back into existence in a small alley in between two tall buildings. It was where he always apparated to in order to go home when for some reason or another he couldn't pop directly into the house. He followed the familiar path and soon after he found himself right in front of his home.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place was very different from how it had been just _in his morning_, at least from outside. It had a dark appearance despite the strong morning sun, and while in good condition in itself, there was something… dead about it. There was no trace of all the improvements and decorations he and Tonks had implemented during their stay at the house. No big golden snitch flapping its wings above the door, no balcony for when Buckbeak wanted to occasionally return to his old quarters, no green mural on the right side of the entrance representing a well done and on top of it, very meaningful owl treat. The house was plain normal.

Harry missed its singularity.

The thought made him wonder about Luna. Had she jumped in the pitch black hole after him? It was almost certain, but who knows? She could have easily been distracted by a Crumpled Horned Snorkack jumping – running? slithering? flying? – around in the shed. He wondered where, or better when, she had ended up if she had indeed followed him.

Sighing, he made his way towards the front door, wand in hand. He casted various detecting spells, but he found nothing out of the ordinary. The door was locked of course, but a few opening charms after, he heard a soft click. Turning the handle, he stepped in quickly.

The house was a mess. A thick layer of dust covered everything, there were large cobwebs in every corner and one had even found the way to wrap around Harry's foot after just two steps. Pieces of glass and wood were scattered in the midst of the remaining partially broken furniture and it seemed like some kind of battle had been fought in the Black manor. And there probably was at least a dead corpse judging by the atrocious smell that had filled his nose. The infamous umbrella stand was near the entrance and Harry smiled remembering how Tonks always tripped on it until she had put it on fire finally. The day after, he had transfigured a butterbeer bottle to look like the by then destroyed object and had watched, laughing all the time, the Auror scream in rage and vent at it with unmitigated fury. It would have been a frightening scene, if it hadn't been so fucking amusing.

Advancing cautiously, Harry made his way through the kitchen, silently passing by the portrait of Mrs. Black who fortunately didn't wake up. He approached the little cupboard and entered. In the small room, the smell seemed to intensify, a mix of dampness, old food and feet. And there, in a filthy corner, laid down Kreacher, eyes closed.

"Ah, at least now I know where the corpse is," said Harry lightly stunning him with his wand for good measure.

He advanced towards the little creature and checked his pulse, not even knowing if House Elves normally had one. They had apparently and it seemed normal fortunately.

In the next few minutes, Harry took the old elf out of the small room and to the kitchen, tying him to a solid looking chair, paying particular attention to Kreacher's fingers to restrain the creature from snap them, if he even need to do it to use his tricks.

He really had to find some information about elf magic.

When he felt satisfied, Harry silenced the door and Ennervated the little guy.

The old elf instantly snapped his head towards him, immediately awake and evidently shocked by the boy's presence. He blinked a few times his more than large eyes.

"Who are you?" the creature asked in a croaked voice, slightly struggling against the ropes.

Harry leaned casually on the entrance of the kitchen and watched the elf firmly.

"I'm the one who will bring you your Master. You do want to serve a Master Black again, don't you Kreacher?"

The creature's eyes watered instantly and he could only bob his head up and down repeatedly, his ears flapping like bat wings, while he stared at the unknown boy who had just appeared out of nowhere, offering him a true life again.

Harry Potter smiled brightly. It appeared that his preventive measures against the elf weren't needed after all.

"Perfect. Do you know the say 'I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine'?"

"You meant 'I'll stab your enemy if you stab mine'?" asked Kreacher furrowing his thin brow, a little confused.

"Yeah, that one," asserted Harry quickly in all seriousness. "I wanted to see if you were paying attention. Ten points to Kreacher."

The old elf just beamed proudly.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"It was a fresh afternoon the one that saw Harry Potter in front of the pale sign of the Leaky Cauldron," said Harry Potter in front of the pale sign of the Leaky Cauldron, during a fresh afternoon of course. The sentence that could have only been considered a sort of commentary, attracted the attention of quite a few passing people. They watched warily the little boy who had just spoken, wondering if he had lost his sanity or if he was playing something. The fact that they didn't see a thing such as 'the pale sign of the Leaky Cauldron' helped a lot in their assumptions.

The dark-haired boy seemed lost in his thoughts, so when he spoke again, the ones who had slowed down interested, startled a little.

"His shabby clothes, too large for him, made him appear abnormal in the midst of all those well-dressed passersby momentary gawking at him."

Said passersby glanced at each other blushing a little. A few of them scattered away at a fast pace, while others actually stopped completely, amused by the boy's statements, or so their curious smiles said.

"A few of them even stopped walking to assist at the scene. Apparently they hadn't nothing better to do than watch a boy standing on a sidewalk. Harry pitied them slightly, but he didn't show it on his emotionless face," continued the boy while someone started chuckling. "At least, he was about to give them something fascinating to watch."

The small figure in large cloths remained silent for a while. With his last comment he had completely captured those people's interest and now there was a little crowd of five men and two women around him, waiting for something to happen.

"Harry Potter started walking slowly right in front of him," said the youngster while doing just that, "and the audience observed in trepidation that strange boy's march, until he simply… disappeared."

The last word was just a whisper coming from… nothing. Absolutely nothing. The five men and the two women could only stand there openmouthed staring at the now empty space in front of them where once was a boy named Harry Potter.

The Muggle repelling ward did not like all those stares at all.

Soon after, there was nobody anymore where 'the pale sign of the Leaky Cauldron' supposedly was.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Harry strolled down through Diagon Alley unnoticed to everyone, his scar covered by his black fringe. The first stop was obviously Gringotts since without money there was no way he could buy his school supplies, unless he was willing to prostitute himself, his image and more probably his scar. He had already _borrowed_ some knuts from Number 12, in order to send Kreacher to a magical market to buy some food and some cleaning products, of which the house was evidently lacking. The elf didn't seem against it at all though. Rather, he was overexcited and despite his age, he had immediately started cleaning and repairing the house... by hand. Harry was almost sure he heard the creature say something along the lines of 'to hell with elf magic!' But it could have easily been one of the many voices speaking in his head, considering the elf had popped away clearly magically to do his errands.

Anyway, the barmy creature was eager to have a Master to serve again. Harry had promised him one in exchange of Kreacher's help in order to fix the house and other matters, and the little bugger seemed quite happy. Apparently the creature wasn't as crazy as it had been during Harry's _first_ adolescence.

The boy entered the doors of the bank and soon he found himself in front of a dangerous looking goblin whose tag said Peppertale, and who had just shouted a loud "Next!" from his position behind the counter.

With a serious expression on his face, Harry intoned solemnly the respectful greeting that wizards and goblins exchange from the beginning of time.

"Master Peppertale, may your gold always flow, your bloodthirst be sated, your comments be more snarky, your scowls more scornful and your females more horny," said Harry and he knew he had earned himself a lot of points with the goblin in front of him. The last comment was an addition of his own invention and it wasn't part of the formal greeting, but it was by far the most important according to him.

Peppertale seemed to share Harry's opinion judging by his lustful eyes. "More horny indeed..." he said dreamily, lost in his naughty thoughts. After a moment, he seemed to shake himself and come back to the matter at hand… "So, how can I help you, Mister…"

"Harry Potter," said the dark-haired boy ignoring the usual glance at his scar. The Goblins at least didn't gasp nor become wide-eyed. "I would like to make a withdrawal from my vault to buy my school supplies, but I don't have the key with me right now. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all, Mister Potter. It is sufficient a blood test that will show us your origins and your proper vaults. We can provide you a new key after that."

The goblin produced a strange instrument and a minute after, a sample of Harry's blood from his forefinger was been analyzed. Harry tried to read the result but it was incomprehensible for him.

Gobbledygook.

That brought a pout on the boy's face. The fact was that in his _previous_ life Harry had tried tenaciously to find a goblin willing to teach him the language, but he had found no one. He had tried all kind of approaches, from the schoolboy one to the Auror one, going to the point of using his fame – event almost unique in his life –, but those damned creatures were all tightlipped about it.

And the reason why he wanted to learn the Gobbledygook so much… uh, let's just say it's a quite trivial one for now…

Harry noticed that the process was taking a long time – well, thirty seconds **are** a long time – and he wondered why. The pout quickly left place to an expectant expression. Harry watched eagerly the goblin doing his work and the question in his mind had not even a single chance to stay in there.

"So, am I Gryffindor's heir?" said the boy hopefully, but he saw Peppertale frown and immediately continued. "No no no! Let me guess! I'm Merlin's, right?" A big grin made its way on his face. He had always known it! Merlin's heir! Wow! He couldn't wait to tell Tonks, and Luna, and…

"Actually," the goblin interrupted his musings "no."

The simple answer crashed Harry's glory dreams like one of those huge hammers in the tiny hands of a cartoon character. And now that he thought about it… goblins were perfect to be characters of good animated shorts… or bad fantasy books.

After another few seconds, Peppertale finally put away the instrument and produced a vault key. "Mister Potter, the test proved your identity. This is the key necessary to open your current vault. I will have Griphook take you down to it. GRIP-"

"Wait!"

The goblin turned again towards the little wizard, a harsh scowl threatening to make its way through his face. The creature then remembered the boy's greeting. A stream of images started flowing in his mind, images of perfectly pointed yellow teeth, of brown wrinkled skin and flaccid mounds. Two words floated among those dreamy thoughts: more horny.

"Yes, Mister Potter?" asked the goblin trying to be polite against his nature.

"A dear friend of mine," said Harry very casually, "told me to trust one of the goblins here with all my havings. The name's Ripcage."

The little guy in front of him made a face Harry would have not been able to do. Apparently being polite in this occasion was not completely achievable. The goblin's natural scowl was there but it was somehow distorted because of the slightly curved lips, reminiscent of the previous polite smile. His eyes had bulged outwards and now shined with a mix of shock and disdain. All in all it was a really creepy sight.

"Ripcage?" spat Peppertale, clearly not happy with the boy's request. "I assure you _Master_ Griphook has experience, cleverness and professionalism."

Harry smiled sweetly. "No, thank you. I would like Ripcage, please."

The goblin grumbled under his breath but didn't object further. Anyway, this time he didn't shout the name, but pressed a little button on the counter and spoke harshly and in Gobbledygook in a sort of interphone. The name 'Ripcage' could be heard quite some times both from him and from the goblin at the other end of the connection, never in a positive tone.

Harry kept on smiling graciously – despite the Gobbledygook – and waited. Soon after, a very big goblin – that is to say he was slightly less tall than Harry – made his way through the hall watched by a good number of wizards and almost the totality of the goblin community. But it was not his abnormal stature that attracted all the attention. It was his hair. Even from the other side of the large room, you could see his curls changing color, from green to magenta, from black to purple and so on. If you were near enough you could see the change involved his eyes too. And not just that… you could also see that his appearance was a little… off. The usually pointy ears were more round, the long fingers weren't as long as the ones of the other goblins and the skin was clearer and less wrinkled. Basically, he looked more human.

The strange goblin reached Harry and eyed him suspiciously for a moment. Then he turned towards Peppertale.

"You made me call, sir?" he asked in a childish but even tone.

"Yes," sneered the goblin behind the counter. "Escort Mister Potter to his vault."

Peppertale seemed to want to have very little to do with the newcomer and made a shooing gesture with his hand. Ripcage didn't appear bothered and without a word made his way towards the carts followed by Harry.

Just as the drive started and Harry was about to request the cart's fastest speed, Ripcage turned around.

"Mr. Potter-"

"Hey, I'm not even eleven years old yet! I'm not a Mister. Call me Harry," interrupted the boy with a grin. "May I call you Rip?"

Ripcage looked very pensive. "It would be a first…"

"Well, Rip sounds great. It's menacing like 'I'll rip you apart'," said Harry ending with a hoarse slightly buccaneerish voice and a hostile grin. "It can also remind you of 'Rest In Peace', that can consolidate the threat of your name. _And,_" continued Harry like the best had yet to come "it's the nickname of sort of one of the best NBA players."

Despite Ripcage didn't know what this 'NBA' was – although he made a mental note to discover it soon – he found himself enjoying the other motivations.

"Okay. You can call me Rip," he decided.

"Yessir! Sorry if I just stole your catchphrase," said Harry.

"No problem," replied Rip who didn't seem to care, or more likely, didn't seem to understand what the strange boy meant, so he simply resumed from where he had been interrupted the first time. "Harry, why did you ask for me?" he said in his childish voice, that revealed he too was only eleven despite his misguiding appearances. His eyes and hair stabilized themselves to brown, while his expression to one of true puzzlement and on top of it, wariness. Being an outcast all your life tends to make you less trustful.

For those of you who have not yet grasped that, Ripcage is not a normal goblin. Actually, he's only _part_ goblin. Did you think Hagrid was the only example of breeding between two different species? Ah, the forbidden fruit, the rebelling act, the unnatural fascination of sex with a member of another race… Don't you start denying it, you little freaks! I know that thought crossed your mind, or maybe you actually put that thought into fact… perverts!

Anyway, Ripcage is half goblin and half human. His goblin mum killed his human dad soon after his birth and nobody exactly knows why, not even Ripcage. After the imprisonment of his mother, the half-goblin became what you can define as a 'football'. He was repudiated from his father's family and in general from the wizarding world. The goblin community reluctantly accepted him but even now it continues to watch him suspiciously because of his wizarding part of his blood.

Wizarding part that is highly evident.

As you could understand from his rather visible abilities, Ripcage is a Methamorphmagus. He was not very skilled in Harry's _first_ life, but only because he had started to study and develop his talent at a late age, or at least that's what he had always said. He and Harry had become good friends when the half-goblin had searched and obtained Tonks' help for his Metamorphmagus abilities. The Man-Who-Vanquished had found in Ripcage – or how he called him at the time, Rip –, a more scathing counterpart to Ron. And it was really predictable that he and the Weasley would have got along smashingly well. And so it went.

Harry watched his soon to be again friend, a big grin threatening to split open his face. If he was to go to Hogwarts again he wanted to have all the fun he could.

"I have a proposition for you," Harry shouted over the rush of the wind. The carts had rapidly taken speed, narrowing between stone passages and dark tunnels.

Ripcage waited for the human boy to explain himself, his only reaction that of furrowing his brow.

"How about going to Hogwarts School of Magic this year?" said Harry smiling mischievously.

The widening of Ripcage's eyes was already a clear answer in itself.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Harry exited Gringotts with a bag full of galleons and an adamant expression on his face. He had left an unconvinced Ripcage in the bank hall and was ready to finally buy his school supplies. He wanted to do that quickly, because he had to be at Hogwarts for dinner to prove to the half-goblin that he would have no problem in making him a student there.

Rip had dared say he had no pull over Albus Dumbledore.

"Blasphemy!" shouted Harry in the middle of the street while advancing towards Madam Malkin's, his next stop. The few wizards still in Diagon Alley in the early evening gave him curious looks but soon walked away.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"What do you mean you don't have super-uber trunks?" asked Harry not a little shocked.

"Sorry but…" started the confused clerk of 'Magical Trunks' only to be interrupted by the strange boy who had asked strange questions for the last five minutes.

"Are you saying you don't have trunks that contain at least a million compartments, infinite space, a room where you can train and where time passes by much more slowly than in reality, and that are protected against all kinds of charms, jinxes, hexes and curses?"

The clerk made to speak but his eyes narrowed dangerously when he was interrupted again.

"Maybe you call them in another way," Harry mused, bringing a finger to his chin. "Mega-ultra trunks? Great-grand trunks? Bingo-bongo-"

"WE DON'T HAVE THAT KIND OF TRUNKS!" shouted the poor guy, red faced, who had yet to meet such an annoying client in his two years at his job.

The clerk tried to regain his temper, while Harry for a moment wore a very puzzled expression. Then the boy shrugged.

"Okay. A cheap-standard one then, thanks."

The clerk just facepalmed himself.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Harry had almost finished with his shopping. Clothes, books, potion equipment and telescope were all in his feather-light trunk and he held Hedwig's cage in his right hand. The snowy owl was sleeping peacefully with her head under the wing despite the constant oscillation of the cage. Just one other thing was missing.

The Man-Who-Vanquished, now downgraded to Boy-Who-Lived, opened the door of Ollivander's shop and stepped in. The tinkling bell welcomed him only a moment before the old wand maker did.

"Ah, good afternoon. I was waiting for you, Harry Potter," said the creepy man coming out from a door on the left.

"Good afternoon to you Mr. Ollivander," replied Harry crossing eyes with the old man. Bright green met pale blue and the two of them just stood there for a couple of seconds.

Then Harry put his trunk and Hedwig's cage on the ground and sighed a long sigh. After a moment he started to walk back and forth in the small shop.

"So you know, huh?"

Ollivander remained silent but continued to watch the boy's every single move.

"I expected it, really," continued Harry. "I always had the impression you were more then what met the eye."

Ollivander's face was expressionless while he listened to the boy.

"But this time… how?" Harry asked simply.

He finally stopped right in front of the old man, crossed his arms and waited for an answer.

It came but, surprisingly, in form of a question. And what a question…

"Mr. Potter… what in the name of Merlin are you talking about?"

Harry's eyes bulged outwards in shock, watching the wand maker's puzzled face. Ollivander's confused expression seemed absolutely authentic, not faked at all. Harry tried a little of subtle Legilimency and found the man's thoughts easily enough. He really had no idea of what Harry was talking about. Harry was so sure Ollivander would have been aware of his time-travel… why Harry thought that, he _really_ didn't know. There would have been no explanation, except the idiotic one that involved a Superhuman, Semi-God, Friend of Fate Ollivander. Well… better this way.

"So you don't know, huh?"

Harry started to walk back and forth again.

"I expected it, really," continued Harry while Ollivander just blinked in confusion. "I always had the impression you were no more than what met the eye."

Ollivander's face was not expressionless while he listened to the boy this time. The mouth that hanged open and the brow furrowed were clearly forming an expression, and quite an evident one at that.

"But this time… how?"

Again, Harry finally stopped right in front of the old man, crossed his arms and waited for an answer he was sure would never come. When after a few seconds, nothing came out of the still open mouth of the wand maker, the boy continued as if anything strange had happened, with a polite smile on his face.

"So, this wands of yours… how about trying some, sir?"

Ollivander finally regained his composure after blinking a few times.

"Yes..." he said very slowly. "Which is your wand arm?" asked the old man seemingly in automatic.

"I'm right-handed, sir."

What followed were a meticulous and quite boring measurement and a meticulous and rather boring testing of many wands. After some minutes, Harry who, if you have yet to notice, tires very quickly, began firing a very rapid succession of questions and sentences in between various waves of not proper wands. The _very_ _bright_ Ollivander wondered why the weird boy kept on talking about brothers, feathers and foxes, but he immediately dismissed the thought when he had an epiphany. Why didn't he think about it early!

"I wonder, now… yes, why not? Unusual combination… holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry just sighed while the old man finally brought _his_ wand. The familiar warm sensation on his fingers when Harry took it, was really priceless. The boy felt something hot in the pocket where his other wand was and wondered not for the first time what would happen if the two identical pieces of wood entered in contact.

White sparks erupted from the tip when Harry swished it and Ollivander complimented aloud the boy and in his mind himself for his great deduction.

"How curious…" he murmured.

"Yeah, so many sparks are not something just anybody can produce," nodded Harry in agreement while noticing the old man cast a strange type of tracking charm concealed by a wrapping charm on his wand and box.

"Actually, I was talking about-"

"Oh yeah, they were many and most importantly, they were white, color symbol of light and fairness."

The wand maker was about to try again but he decided he was tired. It was almost close-down time anyway.

"Yes. That's exactly what I was thinking. We must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter…" he said rubbing his eyes. He then murmured as an afterthought "Weird, yes, but great."

Harry grinned amused and paid seven galleons for his wand. He grabbed Hedwig's cage and his trunk, and left the shop to go home first and to Hogwarts then.

Immediately after the boy's exit, Ollivander sat on his comfortable chair. It had been a very trying end of day. He had yet to put back all the wands the Potter boy had tested and had to write to Albus to inform him of the last sale. Oh well, the owl could wait till the next day…

When ten minutes after, the clock showed it was eight, Ollivander stood up and began reorganizing his shop while thinking over his encounter with the Boy-Who-Lived. If someone had been there, he would have seen the old man shake his head and hear him say…

"It's true that I'm going senile, but he's not normal."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Author's notes

For what concerns the theory on underage magic, the canon story is so full of holes that I found acceptable to create my own vision of the problem, although I'm sure it wasn't completely original, if at all.

For those of you who don't follow the NBA, the basketball player nicknamed Rip is Richard Hamilton (Detroit Pistons… for now). He always ends his interviews with "Yessir!" and everytime he scores at the Palace of Auburn Hills, the speaker shouts it too.


	3. We Shall Conquer! We Shall Conquer!

Warning – English is not my first language and I have no beta right now, so if you see some mistakes let me know what and where they are. If you don't see them, go find a pair of glasses or some English vocabularies and grammar books, because you're either blind or ignorant. Hell, there are probably some mistakes in this warning! Or maybe in this last sentence… or in this one… or in this one… or in this one… I think you got it.

Disclaimer – If by reading this story, you find elements that are similar and/or about something you wrote, then you are either JKR (who owns the Harry Potter Universe by the way) or another fanfiction author who I chose to compliment, criticize or mock somewhere in the story. Enjoy.

Chapter 3: We Shall Conquer! We Shall Conquer!

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was obviously the largest room in the Castle. 'Obviously' because it was intended to gather every single student, teacher and occasionally guest for every meal or so during the school year. But at dinner on a 24th of July when no student nor guest was around and only a short table was placed in the middle, the Hall appeared even larger.

At said stand, sat the same sad saints who almost always say: 'soon some of us shall sail for somewhere else safe'.

Go on, snake-face! Try to say what I just wrote! I challenge you!

Anyway, maybe you were able to understand that the Hogwarts' teachers were seated in the Great Hall, dining, some of them involved in small talk about this and that. The last law approved by the Wizengamot, the interesting essay on the new discoveries about the connection between a wand and his owner, and the taste of vinegar on vegetables were very popular discussions at the short table. But the one that always popped up, obviously I dare say, was the incoming school year.

"I'm sure you'll do perfectly fine, Professor Quirrell," Pomona Sprout was saying with an encouraging smile to the uncertain man in front of her.

"It's not that difficult to teach magical children, really. You have not to worry," Filius Flitwick continued cheerful as always, seated a little more distant.

The new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor looked downcast, not very heartened by his colleagues' comments. "I-I will t-try my b-best…"

"I doubt _your_ best will be enough to break the position curse," Severus Snape said scathingly, clearly hinting whose best he thought would be enough.

"Now, now Severus..." interjected Albus Dumbledore seated at the head of the table, with a warning glance at his Potion Master. "There is no curse on the Defence position. They all were just unfortunate coincidences." He finished with a gentle smile towards the new teacher at his right.

Snape tried with all his might to repress his snort, but everyone knows his might is not a lot.

The Headmaster ignored the Potion Professor's reaction and started eating again. After a little hesitation and a lot of trembling, Quirrell mirrored him.

Filius looked away and turned towards his right and towards Minerva McGonagall. The woman was seated rather stiffly at the last spot of the table, and while that was all normal, her glazed eyes were not.

"Are you okay, Minerva?" the tiny man asked a little worried.

The Transfiguration Professor seemed to come back to Earth and replied hastily, gesticulating a bit with her hands. "Yes, Filius. I'm just a little tired. You know… the acceptance letters… the Muggleborns' visits… and… and all that…" she finished somewhat lamely, a rare event for her.

"Minny," said the Charms Professor kindly, "don't lie to me. We've been friends for a too long time. What's the problem?"

The depressed cat Animagus sighed. "Is it really so much evident?"

"To me, yes. But I know you rather well," replied him with a gentle smile.

"I..." she paused for a moment, uncertain. "I find it hard to start another school year… yet again." The woman sighed again, looking miserable. "This morning I had to _force_ myself to address all the acceptance letters and to make all those visits to the Muggleborns' families. And last year, especially at the end, I…"

Minerva stopped completely, observing the intent expression on the Charms Professor's face. She really didn't know if it was right to finish that sentence. She bit her lower lip, appearing a little like a schoolgirl in Filius' opinion. The tiny man had to hold back the smile that was threatening to make its way though his face. It wasn't exactly the right moment for it.

Dropping her voice like she was about to confess some sort of capital sin, she finally said…

"Last year, I have been bored."

Well, sincerely Filius wasn't expecting that.

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Transfiguration Professor, Gryffindor Head of House and Hogwarts' Stakhanovite had been bored of her job!

Not that it was anything humiliating, and then again, it wasn't that strange. Not at all.

Filius watched his great friend and the pained expression that had appeared on her face, and tried to make her feel better. He saw very clearly how someone like Minerva would feel absolutely miserable for something like that.

"Is that all?" he asked feigning nonchalance. "It's completely comprehensible, really. You are simply going through what is called a professional crisis."

The tiny Professor poured himself and Minnie a glass of firewhisky and took a sip from it, inviting her to do the same. "How many years have you taught Transfiguration here at Hogwarts, Minerva? Thirty-five? More? And how much has the curriculum changed through all these years?" Filius let the questions float there for a brief moment before smiling kindly. "Minerva, do you really think there is someone at this table who has not gone through what you are going through?"

The Transfiguration Professor thought about that for a second. She then shook her head and sighed softly, looking very tired.

"I think I have no more passion to share with my students…"

"Passion?" replied Filius smiling good naturedly. "I would not have thought you capable of speaking of 'passion' while referring to yourself," he joked mocking pensiveness, curling his white beard with his hand. "If not for something like: 'I abhor nonsense… with a passion.'"

Minnie laughed heartily at his attempt to reproduce her stern voice with his squeaky one. She too took a sip from the firewhisky ad then chuckled a little again, feeling already better thanks to Filius. She was about to thank him but he spoke again.

"Jokes aside, it's not possible to _be out_ of a passion like the one you demonstrated here every single day for more than thirty years," the tiny man told her with a resolute look in his eyes. He was about to exaggerate a little, but if it was to cheer her up… "No sane person who would see you in class could not notice how satisfied _and_ satisfying you are while teaching. It's almost a palpable feeling. Your lessons make you ad your students feel good." He made another significant pause that she knew had the only purpose of separate the serious part of his speech from the joking one. "At least the students clever enough not to get on your bad side."

Minerva McGonagall was touched – and honestly… a little smug too – by her friend's demonstration of professional respect, and she wanted to tell him so, but apparently he did not have finished yet.

"So you can't simply be out of a passion like yours. Maybe you have temporary mislaid it." He smiled again. "Someone will come and find it for you once again."

The sentence had sounded like an unintended prophesy of sort to Minerva and to Filius himself, and it didn't help the matter that right at that moment, the doors of the Great Hall opened slightly and a little head appeared in the slit. After a second, the Hogwarts' staff watched a little boy enter and advance confidently towards the lonely table. He was very thin, scrawny you could say, wore shabby large clothes and a pair of round glasses slightly askew. But what shocked most of the teachers were his very familiar messy black hair and bright green eyes. Someone glanced at his forehead, but no scar was visible because of a dark fringe.

The boy came to a halt in front of Albus Dumbledore who in the meantime had stood up in all the magnificence of his magenta and electrical blue robe. The old man showed no sign of shock nor surprise, but it's only fair to say that the man have an unfair advantage with his silver beard and moustache thick enough to hide his immediate reactions.

"Good evening." said the newcomer, smiling. "I'm Harry Potter." He ignored the few gasps and the one growl, and continued watching the Headmaster in the eyes. "I would like to speak to you Mr. Dumbledore when you have the time."

"No better time than present, Mr. Potter," replied the old man with a smile of his own. "Follow me, please."

The Supreme Mugwump walked away from the table and quickly exited the Great Hall, Harry in tow. All the teachers stared in silence at the two fading backs until they were not visible anymore.

Needless to say, soon enough everyone started talking, or in Quirrell's case, started stammering about the little boy who had just left the room, about that terrible yet wonderful Halloween night, and about those bright green eyes and those messy black hair.

Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick exchanged a long look.

Then the Charms Professor started waving his hands around an invisible crystal ball and started repeating his last sentence again, now with a mocking prophetical tone in his voice.

"Someone will come-"

The cat Animagus playfully slapped his arm effectively silencing him, but she couldn't restrain a chuckle and he a grin.

"Honestly, you are so immature at times."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Not a step out of the Great Hall, a smiling Albus Dumbledore had already started what he was sure would be a fascinating conversation.

"Mr. Potter, we weren't expecting you this early. I trust you received the Hogwarts' letter this morning."

"Yes, Headmaster, but please, call me Harry. I'm eleven years old and 'Mr. Potter' does not suit me at all," replied the boy wondering how many times he would have to say that in the months to come. "Anyway, I received the letter, but I'm not here for that reason only."

They climbed up the Entrance stairs and proceeded into various hallways, the interest of Albus picked up by the last comment of the boy. They reached the statue of the gargoyle and it leapt aside instantly, somehow sensing the Headmaster's presence.

The two soon entered the office and settled at the proper seats, Albus behind the desk and Harry in front of it.

The room was exactly the same as Harry remembered. All those little instruments on the table were there, as well as the books' shelves on which sat the Sorting Hat, the Pensieve cabinet, and Fawkes' golden perch. The Phoenix was noticeably absent at the moment much to Harry's disappointment, but the boy was almost certain that at some point in the conversation, the bird would have appeared with a ball of fire, just to show-off. With the exception of a window from which entered the last rays of the setting sun, the walls were all covered with the same portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistress of Hogwarts, currently sleeping and producing an irritating cacophony of sounds. They clearly were faking their sleeps. There was no way a human could snore so loudly! Not even a combo of two very tired Ron _and_ Charlie Weasley could reach the snore intensity of _just one_ of those portraits. So it simply wasn't possible.

Sure enough, Dumbledore cleared his throat rather forcefully and the room fell immediately into complete silence.

Harry put his right hand in his pocket and a moment later produced a couple of wrapped candies.

"Do you want a lemon drop, sir? It's a Muggle sweet, obviously lemon flavoured. Maybe it can help your sore throat," he said smiling, offering one to the Headmaster.

Albus Dumbledore had a very funny expression while he reached for one.

"Yes, Harry. Thank you."

They both popped a lemon drop in their mouths, the boy still grinning.

"Hmmm..." was the noncommitted sound of pleasure that came from the Headmaster. "They're quite good" the old man continued with a smile, feeling like he had found himself in a surreal play of some sort.

Harry didn't say anything. He just grinned knowingly, savouring the candy in his own mouth.

"So... Harry, why did you want to talk to me?" the Supreme Mugwump asked finally, watching the mini-James in front of him. Father and son were very similar physically, and something told the Headmaster that the similarities didn't stop at that.

"Well, first thing first, I wanted to accept Hogwarts' invitation. I'm really excited about it and I cannot wait. I heard so many things about Hogwarts that I feel like I know it already," said Harry clearly thrilled.

Dumbledore smiled, while his mind worked at a furious speed. Harry seemed to know more than the Headmaster had thought he would. The simply fact that the boy was right there in front of him was proof of that. The Supreme Mugwump had really no idea how that was possible. What contact could the boy have had with the Magical World?

While that wasn't _necessarily_ a bad thing, it surely wasn't in the Headmaster's plans either.

"I'm very happy to hear that," he said, debating with himself if using Legilimency against the Boy-Who-Lived during their first conversation was as terrible as it sounded in his head. It probably was.

"I don't know if you need a written reply, or if my answering right now is enough, but if you want I can-"

"That won't be necessary, Harry," interrupted Dumbledore gently. "You've been magically enrolled here not long after your birth and going to Hogwarts is a right nobody can deprive you of. Your answer is a pure formality to let us prepare properly."

"Good. Now that that's settled, there's an important matter I wanted to discuss with you, sir," Harry said, his happy smile completely gone from his face. "I heard about a man, one Rubeus Hagrid, who is the gamekeeper here at Hogwarts. Is it true?"

"Yes of course. Hagrid is well esteemed by staff and student body," replied the Headmaster furrowing his brow and watching intently the boy, wariness in his blue eyes now.

"And he studied here at Hogwarts for three years despite he wasn't originally enrolled, am I right?" the Potter boy asked with a gloom face.

"Yes," replied the Supreme Mugwump dryly. He didn't like the direction the conversation was taking. Not at all.

Harry paused for a couple of seconds, his eyes fixed on the Headmaster's.

"Did you know he was half-giant?"

Albus Dumbledore sighed, sadness clear in his eyes and features. What had Harry Potter become? A bigot fool, scared of differences, obnoxiously certain of his superiority, of his wizard status? How in the name of Merlin had that happened to the Boy-Who-Lived?

The Headmaster of Hogwarts lifted his chin defiantly. He would not tolerate bigotry, not even from the Saviour of the Wizarding World, _especially_ _not_ from the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

"Yes," he said simply.

The old man was shocked when the dark-haired boy regained his happy smile immediately. Harry clapped his hands once and rubbed them together.

"Perfect! So you won't have any problem in accepting a half-goblin student, right sir?"

Dumbledore was flabbergasted. He opened his mouth a couple of times before stammering.

"Yes... I mean, maybe... err... What?"

"A half-goblin student. His name is Ripcage, a nice bloke, really. A little shy maybe, but I'm sure Hogwarts will be beneficial in this aspect as well. Not a good childhood he had, no no, but he'll overcome that, I'm sure. Yes, children, magical and non, can be quite brutal at times but Ripcage can take care of himself. And he won't be lonely here, I for an instance plan to..."

There. Looking at the Headmaster while continuing to talk, Harry knew he had succeeded. But he could not have failed, really. He had used a foolproof method, one perfected during years of practice.. It was a very simple tactic. It basically consisted in taking someone by surprise by _feinting_ towards a direction just to then go towards another one. Before the victim has the time to completely understand the situation he has got himself into, you inundate him with an endless stream of blabber. Harry had called it "Hermione's pump fake shot". It was quite useful.

Anyway, when he finished, Dumbledore had recomposed himself and was smiling amused, all his thoughts about racist Boys-Who-Lived gone.

"I'm sure we can make the proper arrangements, but I'll have to meet him first. How did you say he's called?"

"Ripcage," replied Harry with a large smile of his own, and then added as an afterthought "Or Rip."

"And is he willing to come study here? Does he understand the possible implications in his decision? It would be an unprecedented situation, and one very much frowned upon I'm afraid."

Harry shrugged. "He's pretty much an outcast between Goblins. I think he would jump at the possibility to have friends and to deepen his contact with his magic and consequently with his dead father."

Albus' eyes started twinkling madly for apparently no reason, or at least Harry didn't see one. He remained silent, continuing to watch the boy, his blue eyes lit up.

"I'm a little worried about your eyes, sir. I think you should go to a muggle ophthalmologist and make him take a look at them. They're not acting normally."

Said eyes widened for a moment. Then it happened.

Albus Dumbledore laughed.

It wasn't a chuckle, nor a giggle. He laughed hard, full heartily, his face twisted in a mask of amusement, his mouth wide open, his eyes shut. It was a belly laugh, long and continuous, and it left Dumbledore breathless, red-faced, a little sweaty, but much more relaxed.

"Oh my..." said Albus with a prolonged sigh, amusement still in his voice. "I hadn't laughed so hard in... I don't even know when was the last time. Thank you Harry."

The boy smiled at him. "You're welcome, sir. People take everything much too seriously. But I think laughter has a great underestimated power."

Dumbledore's eyes started twinkling again. "Indeed it has."

"Uhm, sir... your eyes... they're doing it again."

This time the old man just chuckled lightly.

Right at that moment, there was a soft trill and a loud roar of fire. As predicted, Fawkes had appeared with a ball of flame. The Phoenix extended his great wings and floated gently on his perch, his black eyes unsettlingly fixed on Harry.

"What a beautiful Phoenix, sir. Your Familiar?" asked the boy with barely a glance to the Headmaster. He had stood up at the sudden arrival of the creature and now was staring at the Phoenix with similar intensity.

"Yes Harry. He is my great friend and companion Fawkes. Fawkes," he said turning towards the large bird, "this is Harry Potter." He paused for a moment smiling and probably anticipating the boy. "But you may call him just Harry, I think."

"Pleased to meet you, Fawkes," greeted Harry and the Phoenix chirped softly, his gaze still unwavering on him. "Uhm, sir... why is he still staring at me that way?"

"I really don't know Harry. It's... unusual," replied Dumbledore with a puzzled frown. Fawkes was acting strangely. Usually, he would regard the Headmaster's guests with little to no interest, but with Harry, something had apparently attracted his attention.

A few seconds later, Harry found out what was happening. He understood it when something in both his trousers pockets started warming pleasantly.

Fawkes had sensed his wands.

'_Interesting,_' Harry thought.

It had never happened in his _first_ life, but then again, he had never had two identical Phoenix feathered wands at the time.

"I think that maybe..." he started to say in a fascinated tone before interrupting himself.

Dumbledore watched as the boy put his hand in his right pocket, his green eyes on the crimson bird. When he pulled it out, he had a lemon drop on his palm.

"Maybe he's hungry?" finished the boy.

He advanced towards Fawkes and held the wrapped candy at his eyes' level. When he started moving it left and right, the Headmaster was shocked in seeing that his Familiar was following it with his gaze. Harry brought the lemon drop closer to the creature's beak but then playfully pulled away when the Phoenix tried to take it. The boy teased Fawkes for a bit more, much to the bird's fun, before finally giving him the sweet, gaining a delighted trill of contentment. The only thing that could have completed that surreal picture, would have been if Fawkes had started waging his tail.

To say that Albus Dumbledore was flabbergasted would have been the understatement of the century.

"Hey pup, do you like it? I have more if you want," cooed the boy while the Phoenix sang happily.

When the Supreme Mugwump had recovered enough from his shock, he and Harry resumed their talk about the half-goblin, light hearted like both wizards were most of the time. They discussed possibilities and risks and to the Headmaster of Hogwarts it was clear which outnumbered which. From his point of view, Ripcage's presence in the school could help things, open eyes, melt prejudices. Especially if the Boy-Who-Lived himself lined up actively in front of it all.

Albus didn't like thinking about Harry that way, but he couldn't deny that the boy's "title" was a power on its own. And talking about Harry Potter...

The boy was not normal. Not that he, the Headmaster, was. The Supreme Mugwump knew he was a little barmy.

But Harry Potter was completely, utterly, absolutely weird.

Surprising enough, Albus Dumbledore found himself looking forward to the school year.

A lemon drop replaced another in Fawkes' mouth, while the old man and the little boy chatted, both visibly amused, judging by the smiles on their faces. Soon they left the Phoenix to his sweets and started towards the Great Hall again. Harry had been invited to dine with the teachers and he had readily accepted. He had yet another important thing to do.

When they reached the now opened doors that led to the Great Hall, Harry stopped in front of them, glanced at the teachers inside and then turned towards the Headmaster.

"Sir, I need you to cast a strong privacy charm," he said quietly.

Dumbledore watched him curiously and a twinkle appeared again in his eyes, while he performed wandlessly the requested spell, smiling intrigued.

As soon as the boy felt comfortable, he dropped the bomb.

"Headmaster... care to explain why Voldemort is in your staff?"

Albus' smile was abruptly wiped off his face and the twinkle backed again in the deep of his pale blue eyes.

"What?" he asked almost breathless, his expression shocked and a little frightened too.

Harry's grin became unwillingly huge. He really shouldn't find pleasure in others' discomfort. But he had seen a shocked Albus Dumbledore so rarely in his _previous_ life that he felt like he had to recuperate in this new one. Anyway, it was better not to let the Chief Warlock wait for this particular answer too long.

"The man with the turban," Harry said without glancing behind his shoulders at the man in question. "He has a strong connection with Voldemort. Too strong. I'm fairly certain he has Voldemort hidden in his panties or something."

It was no easy task for the Headmaster to recover from this shock, but he did. Occlumency, Harry was sure.

"How do you know?" he asked. His right hand held a long wand very tightly now.

Harry lifted a hand to his forehead and showed his lightning bolt shaped scar, until that moment conceived by his black fringe. He said nothing, but Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully.

"Are you completely sure?" the Supreme Mugwump asked, his face grave.

Harry nodded unexplainably cheerful. "Yep. But don't worry, Headmaster. I have a plan. You just have to back me up."

Albus was shocked once again. How could the boy ask him to let him face Lord Voldemort, one of the strongest wizards of history? Yes, Harry probably still had poor Lily's protection, and he seemed to have the power to sense Tom's presence somehow. But he could not take the Dark Lord! He had to think it over. The situation was delicate and a hasty move from his part could cause terrible consequences. If Voldemort was indeed back, then he had to take precautions. The Stone had still to be relocated but not in Hogwarts anymore. Maybe Nicolas had to take it back. Maybe the Order was to be reformed and...

Harry sighed. He could clearly see the wheels in Dumbledore's head start to spin very fast. He was probably planning ahead the two years to come – at the very least – or so Harry thought.

"Headmaster," he called but the old man seemed to be deeply in thought. "Headmaster," he said again, more forcefully this time. Dumbledore returned his gaze upon the Potter boy.

"Just back me up," he repeated. "Just introduce me to that man first and there won't be a problem."

Albus watched almost transfixed as Harry entered the Great Hall an instant after, immediately noticed by the Hogwarts' staff. For a moment, he thought to stop the boy magically, but then hurried after him, conceiving the wand in his magenta sleeve. He watched uncertainly Harry's face, then Minerva's, accurately avoiding Professor Quirrell's one. A mask of faked amusement slipped on his face in a split of a second, and he found himself in front of the dinner table all too soon for him. He looked at the boy again and saw his calm, quite normal face and hoped that all went well.

"Harry, this is the Hogwarts' staff. May I introduce you our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell?" asked an apparently serene Dumbledore, gesturing with his left hand at the ever-trembling man.

Harry started advancing towards him with an excited expression on his face, while erecting his Occlumency shields at full force. "Oh, Professor Quirrell! I read your book! It was very interesting. It's a honour for me to meet you!"

Harry extended his right hand and quickly took the teacher's one, until that moment nervously drumming on the table. He immediately felt a strong pain going through his scar and piercing his head, while his ears registered a yell from Quirrell, a hiss from Voldemort and loud gasps of shock from all around. Harry gritted his teeth and squeezed the hand of the Professor with all his strength, feeling the skin of the man blistering and scalding. There was a shout from behind – he was almost sure from Dumbledore – but he didn't pay attention to it.

The normally stammering man tried to free his hand, but Harry reached with his left one and clenched it around his neck. Howling in pain, Quirrell started convulsing wildly and fell from his seat, immediately followed by Harry who found himself on top of the other wizard.

The stink of burnt flesh filled his nose and pain battered at his Occlumency shields as if a strong Legilimency attack was in session. He shut his watered eyes tightly, now with both his hands around the teacher's neck – neck that seemed to melt under his firm grasp – and Voldemort's unmistakable shouts of rage and pain added at Quirrell's ones. Harry received a couple of blows at the stomach – punches, kicks... he really didn't know, but the pain in his head made them appear barely more annoying than a poke.

After what seemed like hours but were just seconds, Quirrell ceased to trash and yell as what seemed like some sort of smoke lifted in the air above him for just a couple of seconds. Then it disappeared with a puff, soon followed by the atrocious pain in Harry's head.

He stayed there on his knees for another second, hands still around Quirrell's squishy neck, breathing hard. He wasn't squeezing anymore and the shrieks of the teacher – certainly former teacher now – had left place to pitiful moans and whimpers.

The man was still alive.

Voldemort had apparently fled earlier this time around. The sucker probably didn't expect an attack, and a physical one too. That had always been his major weakness: he didn't appreciate the inventiveness.

Slowly, Harry stood up and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his hand me down T-shirt. When he looked at it, there was blood together with sweat, coming from his scar, no doubt.

He let out a long sigh and turned. The teachers were all standing there, open-mouthed. Almost everyone had a wand in his hand and was gawking at him with wide eyes.

Dumbledore was in front of them all, half-turned towards him, half towards his colleagues, his wand at the ready. He had a curious expression... proud, sad, relieved and thoughtful, all at the same time.

Harry showed him a little reassuring smile, not even knowing what he was reassuring his Headmaster for.

"Uh, I think he needs medical attention," Harry then said pointing at Quirrell, and his words broke the strange immobility in which the Hall seemed to have been descended. Madame Pomphrey immediately rushed towards the moaning Professor – who in all the ruckus had not even lost his turban, enchanted obviously – and with her wand she stunned him for good measure, and then casted a series of diagnostic charms.

"He isn't in mortal danger, but he has suffered severe burns and magical exhaustion. I'm taking him to the Infirmary," she said briskly nodding towards the Headmaster who nodded in answer.

After a quick Mobilicorpus, Quirrell's body started levitating and floating behind the Mediwitch through the doors of the Great Hall, following her mental orders.

The other teachers didn't know what to do and kept on staring at the Potter boy. Most of them had recognized Voldemort's voice at once, but the younger teachers, who were children during the first war, were more confused than ever and now and then glanced at Albus Dumbledore for help. The Headmaster was about to speak but The Boy-Who-Lived anticipated him, clapping his bloody hands once and then rubbing them together. He wore a serious expression on his face that had a business-like quality to it, a really strange thing to see on the face of a little boy. He took a step forward.

"So, who's next?" he asked turning towards Snape and extending his right arm.

The Slytherin Head of House could simply freeze, his eyes fearfully fixed on that hot red limb. Harry didn't have the slightest idea of how to maintain a strait face before the scared Potion Master, but he managed it just in time to ask...

"Want to shake hands?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Harry had just come back from the bathroom and seated at the table in the Great Hall when the Aurors arrived at the doors. Record speed, really. Snape had called them via floo not two minutes before. Anyway, it was a squad of four, and two of them immediately went towards Hogwarts' Infirmary where Quirrell supposedly was. Harry's interest picked up when he caught a glimpse of a pink hairstyle, before the two Aurors followed Snape far from the doors of the Great Hall and out of sight.

The other two, instead, entered the room and made their way towards Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. The old man greeted them friendly and the four discussed for a couple of minutes.

Harry steepled his hands on his lap and waited patiently, his head still throbbing a little. Professor Flitwick stood at his right, next to Madame Hooch and a quite ashen Professor Sinistra. At little distance stood Professor Vector and Madame Pince speaking very quietly to each other. Finally, Dumbledore led the two newcomers at the table and a familiar tall black man took a step forward.

"Mr. Potter, I'm Auror Shacklebolt and this is Auror Coral," said the wizard gesturing at his colleague, a broad man with moustache and currently wide brown eyes.

"Good evening Auror Shacklebolt, Auror Coral..." greeted the dark haired boy with a small smile. "Please, call me Harry."

Kingsley just nodded, his professional expression on its place, while he produced a small note-book and a muggle pen, passing them to Coral. "We have some questions for you."

"Is it a problem if I eat in the meantime? I'm a little hungry."

"No problem, Harry. Please, explain what happened this evening."

Harry took a sip from his pumpkin juice before putting the glass on the table. There still was a lot of food and he happily filled his plate with everything within arm's reach. "I came here at about eight o'clock to talk to Headmaster Dumbledore about something concerning Hogwarts. I entered in here and he was dining along with the teachers." He paused for a moment to swallow some roast beef before continuing.

"As soon as I was at the doors I felt pain in my scar," he said pointing with his fork at his forehead, "and then I sensed a presence that I somehow knew belonged to Voldemort."

He ignored the usual gasps and shudders at the name, but slowed down a little when he noticed that Auror Coral seemed to have stumbled in a… err… spelling difficulty. Harry took advantage of it by stabbing another steak and shoving it in his mouth. Hmmm… House Elf cuisine… "Headmaster, please, compliment the chef for me when you have the occasion. The steak is simply marvelous." He made a guttural sound of pleasure and Dumbledore just nodded his head in acknowledgement, but his eyes were twinkling behind his half-moon spectacle and a faint smile played on his lips.

"I thought about revealing Voldemort's presence immediately, but then I decided not to. I wanted to think about it more," Harry resumed more or less comprehensibly through his full mouth. "Sorry," he added when he had swallowed. He drank his pumpkin juice and then pulled away his plate, showing he had already finished.

Kingsley was watching him very intently, his dark eyes never leaving him, but not in an uncomfortable way. The face of the Auror showed attention, yes, but comprehension too.

"So I just went to talk to the Headmaster in his office. When we came back I told him that the man with the turban had a strong connection with Voldemort and I asked him to introduce Quirrell – I think it's his name – to me as the first thing." Here Harry glanced at Dumbledore and gave him a half-apologetic, half-mischievous grin. "He did it and when I shook the hand of the man he started yelling. He couldn't touch me without feeling pain and I knew what would have happened more or less, even before doing it, just as I knew he was somehow connected to Voldemort."

Auror Coral was scribbling at a fast pace now. Apparently he had finally decided with which of his many nicknames referring to the Dark Lord in his report.

The people in the room were all watching Harry, some in disbelief, others in awe, except for Dumbledore who had yet again another thoughtful expression on his face.

"Quirrell fell from his chair when I put my hands on his neck and then Voldemort started screaming too. I'll have you know…" continued Harry grimacing a little. "It wasn't a pleasant experience for me neither, although I'm fairly sure that for the Dark Lord it was far worse." At those words, a satisfied grin made its way through the boy's face. "Anyway… soon enough, a cloud of something similar to smoke – what remained of Voldemort probably – appeared above us, but after a couple of seconds it puffed away."

"Puffed?" asked Auror Coral in confirmation, uncertain of how to report that particular fact.

"Yep," nodded Harry. "Puffed."

The next ten minutes passed by very slowly for Harry. Kingsley asked him more questions and he tried to answer truthfully when he could. He stayed vague when talking about feeling the presence of the Dark Lord and knowing he would have hurt him if he had touched his bare skin. Then the two Aurors asked confirmation from the other teachers, and Professor Flitwick, McGonagall and Dumbledore mostly, assured them that indeed, it was really Voldemort… yes, yes, it was undoubtedly his voice… had hoped we had not to hear those scary hisses again… but now it ended fortunately… and so on. There probably was the same scene at that same moment in the Infirmary, although with more scowls and nasty comments from Snape.

Anyway, it was decided that Quirrell would be transported to St. Mungo's and watched night and day by Aurors until his recovery. Then there would start a hearing of some sort. Kingsley told Harry to expect to take testimony sometime in August and then he bade farewell and exited with his colleague. The dark haired boy watched them walking briskly towards the Infirmary and talking quietly to each other.

When he turned again, he found himself right in front of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.

"Harry, I'm not certain if I should thank you or chide you," said Dumbledore in a scolding tone.

"I'm certain the Lady behind you has no such doubt," replied Harry with a grin. Albus glanced at his Deputy Headmistress and found her face set in a stern expression of disapproval, with thin lips and arched brows.

"Indeed," said the Supreme Mugwump amused, watching the woman huff a little and adding a slight glare to her already reprimanding face.

"If it can help your decision, Headmaster, I'll start saying I'm sorry you'll have to find a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in so little time."

"Harry, that's not the problem at all," dismissed Dumbledore with a wave of his hand. "But you put yourself in peril by acting rashly-"

"Sir, I don't want to sound disrespectful, but you really can't use the word 'peril' in a casual conversation in the nineties," Harry interrupted gently.

Dumbledore couldn't help but chuckle at that while Professor McGonagall stared at the boy open-mouthed.

"Anyway, I told you and the Aurors already. I had the situation under control, and I didn't act rashly, really. I thought about what to do during our discussion in your office," Harry continued. "Besides, all went well, didn't it?"

He grinned mischievously and gestured with his hands as if saying 'why are we still talking about it?'

Minerva was about to reiterate, but Albus anticipated her.

"Indeed. I must say I find your optimism quite refreshing."

Harry smiled brightly.

"I just had a wonderful day, sir."

Dumbledore was about to reply but the boy beat him once again.

"Well..." said Harry cheerfully, "I think it's time for me to go home."

"Let me accompany you," said immediately the Headmaster.

"Thank you sir, but that won't be necessary."

"Harry-"

"It's not that late and there's still daylight. And I just have to go till Hogsmeade."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. Thank you for the meal and sorry for all that ruckus. See you in September." He waved his little hand towards the teachers scattered through the Great Hall who replied somewhat hesitantly. "Headmaster. Ma'am."

He nodded towards Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall and five seconds later, he had already left.

"What a jovial boy," said Filius Flitwick approaching them.

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes lingering on the still open doors.

"He just had a wonderful day."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Harry apparated home halfway through the street to Hogsmeade, this time directly into the house. The hall was in relatively good conditions considering the state in which it had been just that morning. Dust and cobwebs had left place to shiny and clean surfaces and corners. The furniture was still broken but it had been polished and somewhat arranged. The terrible stink that had permeated the house was nowhere to be smelt, thank Merlin.

"Kreacher," Harry called.

"Yes Harry?" replied the old elf, shuffling in the room. Fortunately, the little guy had no intention of calling him Master, nor Mister to be honest. Kreacher looked very tired, his normally abnormally large eyes a little closed. He had probably worked nonstop all day.

"You did a great job with the house. Twenty points for you. Now rest a bit. Did you eat?"

"Yes, water, bread and toenails."

"Were them good?" Harry asked not missing a beat.

The elf seemed to think it over. "A little salty."

"Tomorrow I'll cook something for you. Where did you take my stuff?"

"In your room."

"Good."

Harry went to his now clean room on the second floor and started unpacking his trunk. He set his first year books on the desk, filled two containers with water and owl treats, opened Hedwig's cage and then proceeded to affix various Cannons posters on the wall above his bed. The snowy white owl hooted happily, drank some water and dashed out of the window. It wasn't dark outside yet, but apparently she itched to fly a little. Harry sympathized with her greatly.

When his wall was properly covered in orange, Harry gave his room a satisfied look and went back on the first floor in the dining room.

It was time to try his wands.

Once there, he drew his old one and used it to banish chairs and table towards the farthest wall, in order to create a reasonably large empty area, not knowing what was about to happen exactly. There had already been a couple of strange reactions between the two wands and he really didn't want to take his chances.

Once he felt ready, he drew his new wand as well.

He felt immediately the two sticks trying to reach one another like two magnets of some sort, but he held them tightly. The wands started warming and vibrating and the attraction intensified. An eerie grey light formed between the two magical tools, followed by a soft humming of power, and in answer they seemed to try to came in contact with each other even more forcefully.

The two wands wanted to fuse together in one.

"Hell no!" Harry shouted.

Sweat drops started pearling his forehead as he doubled his efforts.

"I…like… having… two wands…" he panted between gritted teeth. "Plus… I already bought… two holsters!"

Finally the light seemed to dim and the wands to appease. Harry started to relax and a few seconds later the sticks completely ceased to vibrate and hum. When the grey light disappeared as well, Harry felt comfortable enough to accost the wands at one another.

He started carefully, growing more confident with each second, and as nothing happened when he rubbed them together, he could finally declare himself owner of two almost identical holly and phoenix feather wands.

"Whoo whoo!" he shouted pumping his fist in the air. "I'm too cool! I'm the best! Whoo whoo!"

"Trying to rest here!" came Kreacher's annoyed shout from his cupboard near the kitchen.

"Sorry," was Harry's sheepish reply.

He stashed the wands in his pockets, filing away the little differences between them. He had to use only his old one for now, at least until he didn't find a way to clear the new one from Ollivander's atypical tracking charm. He had already gotten himself noticed in the Ministry with all that Quirrell/Voldemort business.

"Hmmm… I think reading a copy of tomorrow's Daily Prophet is in order," said Harry cheerfully.

"Shhhh!"

"Oops. Sorry."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"So, Rip, you see. Albus Dumbledore himself dictated that condition. I'm sorry, but there's no other way..." Harry said to the half-goblin with a sad yet comprehensive expression on his face.

It was early afternoon – a really hot afternoon – and Gringotts bank was almost completely empty. Goblins rushed here and there with blocks of notes, clinking bags of gold and occasionally shiny iron spears, but there was only a half-dozen of wizards in the lobby. The room was wrapped in the classic silence you can stumble upon in empty streets just after mealtime.

Harry stood in front of Ripcage near the bank counter the second day of his second life. He wore some cloths he had bought in Muggle London in the morning, a plain green T-shirt, white trousers and shoes, and a green cap. His infamous scar was hidden by both the hat's visor and his black fringe and nobody had recognized him, thanks to the favorable hour as well.

The Daily Prophet had somehow found out everything that had happened at Hogwarts the previous day and had published numerous articles worth a couple of pages or maybe five. '_Harry Potter still looks out for us!_', '_The Boy-Who-Lived stops You-Know-Who's rise again_' and other titles like that had winked at him from the first page, together with a really up-to-date photo – in which he was a baby – and a very accurate summary of his life – that somehow missed roughly his last ten years.

Anyway, Harry had yet to receive a owl from the Ministry about the incoming – at least according to the Daily Prophet – trial against Quirinus Quirrell. But he was in no hurry, really.

Ripcage was in his normal goblin uniform, scarlet and gold besmeared with ink and what suspiciously looked and smelt like dragon poop. It had that greenish quality to it, you see. And while Harry could not preclude it wasn't some vomit of a possessed little girl, the fact that the half-goblin worked at Gringotts and that Gringotts employed dragons, made 'dragon poop' the most reasonable assumption.

Rip had an expressionless face while he thought about what Harry had just told him, but his Metamorphmagus skills betrayed his true feelings. His hair had just morphed into pale yellow and his eyes into a dull grey.

"Nothing to do then. If in order to go to Hogwarts I have to teach you Gobbledygook then it means I won't go to Hogwarts..." said the half-goblin with a resigned tone.

"What!" Harry practically snarled. "You would renounce at the possibility to go there just because you don't want to teach me freakin' Gobbledygook? Why?"

Rip sighed. "I told you yesterday already that it has always been my dream to go to Hogwarts, to learn about human magic, refine my Metamorphmagus skills… but I cannot break the third law of The Pact."

"Now it's official," the dark haired boy growled. "I absolutely hate the Pact!"

Everytime it seemed he was about to find a goblin willing to teach him that stupid language, that damn third law of that fucking goblin Pact was always put in his wheel like a spoke – You shall protect Gobbledygook's secrets with your gold and life!

Fuck that!

It had happened so many times in his _previous_ life that it was not even funny anymore! Even the _other_ Rip had hidden behind that law refusing to teach him the language.

"Fine," Harry conceded, angry. "I lied about that. Dumbledore said there should be no problem. He'll come here to talk to you soon."

Not even Tonks' Metamorphmagus abilities mixed with Dumbledore's Occlumency skills could have concealed the expression of pure joy on the happiest eleven years old half-goblin of the world… not that there were that many with those characteristics.

"Really?" he asked Harry, who in the meantime had turned towards the bank's doors.

"Yeah, really. I'm going home now," the boy answered in a gloom tone.

Rip was almost bouncing up and down with excitement, imagining himself with a Hogwarts' robe, a wand in hand and young students all around him. And to think that he had been ready to give it all up when Harry had told him that condition…

" Hey Harry!" he shouted at the boy's retreating back and waited until he turned around. "Why did you lie about Gobbledygook?"

Harry just glared furiously at him before descending the marble stairs and out of sight.

"Huh… okay. Thank you!" Rip shouted again, but it came no reply.

The half-goblin stood there for a long moment before getting back to work. Throughout all the day if you had met him, you could not have seen him without a big smile on his brown face and bright green eyes and hair.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Come on! Pass that ball to Shreder! He's unmarked!" Harry shouted just to then curse under his breath when Gummin lost the Quaffle having delayed the pass.

It was a hot morning of the end of August and Harry had just pulled his orange jersey off and had tied it at his waist. The sun was high in the sky and there was no shade whatsoever in the stadium stands. The smell of sweat mixed with beer of all kinds had already started to float among the flushed supporters. Deafening chants and sporadic shouts created the classic atmosphere you can only find in a stadium full of sportily desperate men.

The match had started not even ten minutes before and the Cannons were already thirty points under those slouches of the Prides. And they were the home team!

"FINGERS CROSSED, HIGH HOPES AND TWO BEATER'S BATS, THEY WILL GO BACK HOME BEATEN AS RATS! AND IF THEY WANT TROUBLE, THEY CAN KISS OUR… Oh come on! Even I could have saved that one, Giles! If Dorkins had forked out some money, now…"

Harry stopped in mid-rant as the Chudley's Chasers flew in counterattack and scored their first ten points.

"FLYING WITH THE CANNONS!" he shouted pumping his fist in the air, mirrored by almost the totality of the stadium.

He whooped a few times and clapped a few backs, one of which was Ron Weasley's.

The boy stood two seats at his right. Harry had noticed his unmistakable mass of red hair almost immediately – despite everyone present wore or had something orange colored – and had made his way towards him. To be honest, he had seen Mr. Weasley's head first, but it wasn't his fault if Ron was currently a midget. Anyway, Harry had seen the man chuckle at a couple of his shouts, while Ron had looked at him a bit warily.

A short fruitless struggle to reach the Snitch had just ended, when Harry, averting his eyes from the match for a moment, noticed that Mr. Weasley had left his place to Ron, who now sat directly at his right. He wore a orange T-shirt with flying cannon balls and two big black 'C's on the high left. His blue eyes were moving between Harry and the flying players, and his numerous freckles were more noticeable than ever under the scorching summer sun.

"Hi, I'm Ron," shouted the boy over the noise.

"Harry."

"Do you watch Cannons' matches often?"

"Not much. You?"

"No. This is a special occasion. My father wanted to take me to a match before I went to Hogwarts. Pass that ball, dammit!"

"Ronald," said Mr. Weasley in a warning tone.

"Sorry Dad," he apologized sheepishly. "Are you going to Hogwarts too?" he then asked turning again towards Harry.

"Yep. First year. You too?"

"Yeah."

The two interrupted their conversation for a moment of justified cursing – how a professional Chaser could miss that goal was beyond belief, really – before going at it again.

"House?" Harry asked.

"What?"

"What House?"

Ron stared at the boy for a moment.

"I'm hoping for Gryffindor, but I guess Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw wouldn't be that bad. If I'm sorted into Slytherin I'll just jump from the Astronomy tower the first night."

"Ron, I don't want to hear-"

"I know Dad. I was just kidding, honestly," said the boy. He then bent down towards Harry and whispered "I was serious, but before jumping I will ask my brothers to stun me first."

Harry laughed lightly before stopping abruptly and shouting against the ref together with everyone in the stands – Ron too – because of a non-whistle on the Chudley's Seeker.

"What House do you think you'll be in?" the redhead asked.

"Dunno."

Here Ron made a little pause while assessing Harry.

"Do you always talk in monosyllables?"

"No," Harry grinned.

"Then why are you doing it now?"

"Saving voice for chants," said the dark haired boy, his grin huge now.

As if on cue, a moment later the historic anthem of the team started from a little higher on the stands, and Harry joined in very loudly, not missing a beat.

"…THE SUN WILL RISE, ALL THE WORLD WILL KNOW. WE'LL SING TILL DEATH COMES, CELEBRATING OUR COLORS THAT ARE BRANDED DEEP IN OUR HEARTS. WE SHALL CONQUER! WE SHALL CONQUER!"

Two hours later, the match had ended and the Cannons had lost 510 to 240 against the Prides of Portree. Harry, Ron and occasionally Arthur had talked throughout all the game about Hogwarts and Quidditch, and were now following the crowd in order to get out of the stadium. Mr. Weasley had responsibly taken the lead and with it Ron's hand, much to the boy's discomfort and complaints. Harry had grinned but said nothing.

When there finally was enough room to stop for a moment without getting in the way of the stream of supporters, Arthur turned around with a gentle smile.

"Do you want us to accompany you home, Harry? Where are your parents?"

"Oh, don't worry Mr. Weasley. I'm all right," replied the dark haired boy with a slightly hoarse voice because of all his singing.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. Thank you anyways," he said with a bright smile.

Arthur watched him uncertain for a moment.

"Well Harry, it has been a pleasure to meet you. I hope you and Ron will continue to frequent each other once at Hogwarts."

"I don't see why not."

Harry put on his shirt with the Cannons' sign on it and shook Mr. Weasley's hand. "Good bye Mister Weasley. Ron, see you in a couple of days!"

"Yeah-" replied the redhead boy hesitating a little as if wanting to say something else. "I'll come searching for you on the train. Bye!" he then shouted, waving with his hand.

The two Weasleys watched the boy as he made his way among that orange horde and soon disappeared in it.

Arthur turned towards his son and found him with a slight frown, his eyes still scanning the crowd for Harry.

"Are you okay, Ron?"

"Yeah..." the boy said bringing back his attention to his father, but the frown remained. "But I wanted to invite him for lunching with us now."

Mr. Weasley drew his wand with a skeptic expression on his face and casted a Tempus charm.

"It's not even eleven o'clock!"

Ron just watched his father, puzzled.

"Huh… So?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

It was the 31st of August 1991, half past midday to be exact. Number 12 Grimmauld Place was silent except for the shuffling of a newspaper in the dining hall.

Harry Potter was seated at the table, reading. It had been another hot morning and he had given up with his sticky sleep and had left his boiling bed. Now that numerous windows were open and a merciful breeze gently ruffled his black hair, he finally felt comfortable. Sure, he had to wear only boxers if he wanted to stay so, but all the Pixies and Doxies had been chased away so there was no problem, really. Well, it was true that neither he nor Kreacher had been able to find any Nargles, but those little creatures had remained quiet till that moment and Harry had always been a great supporter of the say "live and let live".

And tomorrow he would finally go to Hogwarts. He was really exited.

These first weeks after his travel in time had been funny, mostly. He had rested, flown, played, plotted, and much much more. He almost thought about enjoying a few others that way. But Hogwarts awaited him.

Suddenly, a thought struck him.

What if he went to the Lovegood's shack and jumped in the trapdoor again? He could travel back in time – roughly a month back – and enjoy another four weeks. He could live for years, become old, and then jump in that magic door of sort and be a eleven years old again.

Basically, he would be immortal.

"Another month of fun before Hogwarts…" Harry mused out loud rubbing his chin with a hand, thoughtful.

"Nah! Hogwarts will be fun enough," he decided after a minute of pause. He took a sip from his milk – he was a growing young man after all – and then kept on reading.

After a while, Harry finished with the very interesting month edition of the Quibbler, folded it and took the more boring Daily Prophet. Immediately after reading the big title on the first page, a frown made its way through his face.

Quirinus Quirrell had been kissed by Dementors on Wizengamot's orders.

Harry really didn't expect that.

Quirrell was nothing more than a pawn, a poor idiot who had been first corrupted and then controlled by Voldemort himself. Being kissed seemed a too hard sentence for him. Yes, the man surely had no good intentions and letting him around children was not a brilliant idea, but he hadn't done anything terrible. Yet.

Knowing the future – or better, _a_ future – can give you some advantages and Harry knew that Quirrell would have killed some poor Unicorns, would have tried to kill him, to obtain the Stone, and who knows what else. But he had done no such things yet.

Being kissed just for being possessed by Voldemort? It seemed a little harsh.

Harry guessed it still was very strong the fear of You-Know-Who in the Wizarding community.

Harry had spoken before the full Wizengamot in Quirrel's trial roughly two weeks before. It had been a private session on Albus Dumbledore's request, so no reporters nor guests were present. Harry had recounted the facts exactly as he had done that very night in front of Kingsley and his colleague. It had taken an hour, but then he had not been called again. The Daily Prophet had occasionally reported something about the trial, but not very much, because it had started to fail to attract people's attention by the first week already – except when it had been Harry's turn as witness. He had received a dozen of owls from various journalists, a couple from one Rita Skeeter for example, but after that, nothing.

And now, quite suddenly, this.

Quirinus Quirrell had been kissed by Dementors on Wizengamot's orders.

Maybe it really was time to pay a visit to the Lovegood's shack?

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Author's Note – Regarding Harry and his stay at Hogwarts, I could never picture dear Vernon signing a paper and giving his permission. So I thought that maybe Harry's parents had enrolled their baby just after his birth or something. Anyway, I don't really care.


	4. Trapdoors and Platforms

Warning – English is not my first language and I have no beta right now, so if you see some mistakes let me know what and where they are. If you don't see them, go find a pair of glasses or some English vocabularies and grammar books, because you're either blind or ignorant. Hell, there are probably some mistakes in this warning! Or maybe in this last sentence… or in this one… or in this one… or in this one… I think you got it.

Disclaimer – If by reading this story, you find elements that are similar and/or about something you wrote, then you are either JKR (who owns the Harry Potter Universe by the way) or another fanfiction author who I chose to compliment, criticize or mock somewhere in here. Enjoy.

Chapter 4: Trapdoors and Platforms

"Open up! You stupid trapdoor!" Harry grumbled pulling the brass handle with both his hands.

He was sweating profusely and mentally wondering where had gone into hiding the infamous English bad weather. There were more than ninety degrees Fahrenheit and the air was hot and sticky. Sporadic gusts of wind were the only relief for the poor miserable human beings who ventured out into the open.

But the problem was that Harry was not in the open.

The boy reached for his wand on the floor near him and casted on himself a weak cooling charm. He sighed in relief when he felt his skin suddenly chill. Magic really is useful.

He was crouched in the middle of the Lovegoods' little shack, trying to open that damn trapdoor on the floor, in vain. He discarded his wand again and resumed with the physical assault on the brass handle.

He had tried the magical way too. Magic really is useful, right?

Not in this instance, apparently.

Opening charms? Useless. Parseltongue's orders? No effect. He had even tried to blast the trapdoor open with a Reducto, but to no avail.

It was locked and had no intention whatsoever to let Harry jump in its passage.

"Why don't you just open up!" he screamed against it, not a little annoyed.

Harry sighed tiredly and sat on the floor right in front of the entryway that led to the past… roughly a month in the past. He wiped the sweat away from his forehead and a strong smell of metal filled his nose, not entirely unpleasant, but surely not delicate. He had pulled that damn handle for quite some time.

"Let's think… think… think…" murmured Harry like it was a powerful mantra of some sort.

The first time around, Luna had opened the trapdoor by hand with little to no effort. Now it didn't move in the slightest. And while Luna at the time had been a twenty-seven years old woman and now he was an eleven years old boy, Harry doubted it was because of lack of physical strength that he couldn't effectively lift the wooden hatch.

Maybe it could only be opened by an adult. Maybe only by a Lovegood?

Another important thing was that the trapdoor seemed to be able to somehow absorb magical energy. When he had casted the Reductor curse against it, there had been no blast. The light of the spell had struck the wood but had seemed to disperse.

Harry raised his old wand again and casted a standard detection charm. Immediately a faint blue glimmer appeared on the brass handle, revealing the presence of magic. The boy then used a more advanced spell and this time four more glimmers lit up at the four corners of the trapdoor. Licking his lips, excited, Harry used the best detection charm he knew and he had to narrow his eyes to shield them from the lights that now came from the wooden surface.

He just had the time to notice how the four corner lights were connected to the one on the brass handle by tiny bluish lines, when the entrance door of the shack creaked slightly and a booming voice scared the shit out of him.

"Who's there?"

Harry's head snapped towards the voice's direction and he started to point his wand at a tall figure who stood in the doorway. The afternoon sun shined over it and Harry relaxed slightly noticing that the hands of the newcomer were currently empty. The boy relaxed completely when he finally saw who the man was.

Xenophilius Lovegood was a very tall wizard. His every movement, even the littlest, was somewhat clumsy, slouchy, giving the impression of a teenager who had grown up too fast and had yet to understand how exactly his new developed body worked. His long white hair made him appear older, and his crossed eyes weirder.

People often mistake weirdness with stupidity – but Harry knew better.

Xenophilius Lovegood was not stupid. Far from it.

He was a very talented wizard with a great mind. He just used it for things most people would judge stupid. Harry could use his help with the strange trapdoor, and considering it was _his_ trapdoor anyway, odds were he knew how to open it already.

Harry stood up from his crouched position and turned around facing the newcomer completely. The man wore a plain beige robe. It would have been completely normal – an abnormal thing for him – if it hadn't been for the oval hole in the front that showed the skin around the navel. The fact that said skin was hairless and on top of it, smeared with strawberry jam, revealed Harry that he had interrupted the annual chase of the Tridestep Bunghogs.

"Good afternoon Mr. Lovegood. How's the Bunghogs' chase going? Any luck so far?" asked Harry really interested. He had taken part to four editions of that event and the third time he had been able to catch one of those creatures all by himself. That wasn't an easy task, not even for the veteran and expert Mr. Lovegood, who had complimented him generously at the time.

Xenophilius seemed delighted by the question, a big smile threatening to split his face in two.

"Oh, little Luna has just caught her very first one. She ran after it from the woods, cornered it near the house, and then pounced on it like a panther," he said proudly and a little sigh escaped his lips. "She was the picture of her mother."

Right at that moment, from a little farthest came the excited shouts of a little voice.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Soon enough a ten years old Luna Lovegood appeared in the doorway next to her father.

Her blonde hair and bulged eyes were already there, but there was something off in how she looked in comparison to Future Luna and Harry didn't grasp exactly what was different. Anyway, she wore the same 'outfit' of her father, a beige robe with a hole at the belly level, but there was a furry little creature in her arms, happily lapping at the strawberry jam on her skin.

"Look! Look! The jam is about to finish! Should we add some more?" she asked very excited but with a slight anxiety in her tone. She hadn't even noticed Harry, her attention completely captured by the marmot-like creature on her stomach. The little animal was producing gurgling slurping sounds, its reddish tongue moving swiftly across the girl's belly. The Tridestep Bunghog had a lean brown body, short but protuberant frontal teeth, a little black nose currently smeared with jam and a very long tail. Its hand-like paws grasped Luna's robe as if afraid to fall down, despite the girl's firm grip.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. It will fall asleep soon. Then we'll start studying it," said Xenophilius beaming at her. "You did a great job."

The blonde girl seemed to calm down at that and glancing in Harry's direction, she finally noticed him.

"Hi. Do you like it?" she asked showing the little creature in her arms with a big proud smile on her face.

Harry grinned. "It's cute," he said and Luna nodded in agreement. "Is it male or female?"

Luna started answering but then stopped. She closed her mouth, frowning a little. She then turned towards his father who had a similar expression on his face.

"How do we know it?" she asked him.

"Well…" Xenophilius started making a jerking wave with his hand. "I suppose…"

"Here," said Harry advancing towards them and stashing away his wand. "Let me take a look at it."

The two Lovegoods watched as the dark haired boy lifted the Bunghog's tail and crouched a little to peer under it.

"There," he said standing up. The animal smelt of wood and musk despite the area Harry had just sniffed at wasn't exactly the best to do it. "He's male."

"How can you tell?" asked an awed Xenophilius.

Apparently, most of the man's discoveries regarding the Tridestep Bunghog had yet to come, because Harry had been told that particular thing about those little creatures by Mr. Lovegood himself. The Tridestep Bunghogs are a vastly unknown species, not at Nargles' or worse Snorkacks' level, but close enough. The fact that to find and study them you have to fulfill a specific series of unusual conditions doesn't help the matter.

"Have you ever seen them breeding?" Harry asked and both man and girl shook their head. "They entwine their tails and the male insert his sexual organ in the female's. Both are under their tails. Here, take a look."

The boy gestured at Xenophilius and the man crouched in front of his daughter and the creature. Harry held the tail up for him while the man peered under it.

"Wow…" he breathed out, fascinated. "It's so tiny that if I hadn't known it was there I would not have noticed it."

"Now, now, Mr. Lovegood. You cannot go around insulting people's virility like that," said Harry in a chastising tone.

Sure enough, the Bunghog's tail shot out from the boy's hand and slapped the man on the face lightly. The fact that Harry had made no effort whatsoever to prevent that, went unnoticed. The little creature stopped licking for a moment, huffed sleepily once at Xenophilius and then started licking again, his eyes half closed. Mr. Lovegood just rubbed his _injured _cheek, continuing to stare under the animal's tail.

"I want to see it too!" Luna exclaimed excited, shifting pivot foot restlessly, and Harry found himself wondering again what was so different in her. There was something off, he was certain of it.

Anyway, the Bunghog didn't seem to mind too much all that bouncing and kept on lapping at what remained of the strawberry jam. He wasn't licking furiously anymore, sign that it was both satiated and tired. His grasp on the girl's robe was weakening as well.

"Wait till he falls asleep, dear," Mr. Lovegood soothed her.

Then the man erected himself and stared at Harry for a couple of minutes, his crossed eyes unnervingly unwavering. Well, one of the two was pointed at his own nose, but the other was unnervingly unwavering on Harry, sure.

"Who are you and who told you what you know of the Tridestep Bunghogs?" he asked, his voice slightly awed.

Harry just watched Xenophilius in his good eye for a long second.

"I'm Harry Potter," he then answered with a small smile, "and the person who taught me those things is you."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Hmmm… interesting," mused Xenophilius kneed in front of the trapdoor in the shack near his house.

"Quite," Harry agreed next to him.

They were finally examining the mysterious entrance after a long discussion about it and about Harry's travel in time. The boy had decided not to omit anything relevant to both the Lovegoods and he was happy about it. It had turned out that neither Xenophilius nor Luna knew anything about the trapdoor – not even its existence – but the man had resourcefulness, knowledge and genius, and it appeared like Harry could use some of them to unravel the mystery.

Both man and daughter had tried and failed to open the trapdoor, much to Harry's disappointment. There they went his 'Adult only' and 'Lovegood only' theories. Maybe it could only be opened under certain conditions – a specific weather, day of the week, of the month, of the moon phases...

Evidently, it was easier to study its magic.

Or maybe not.

In the next two hours, Harry and Xenophilius examined the trapdoor scrupulously. The ward that protected it and gave it power was absolutely alien. There was not a single rune they recognized. Worse, there was not a single rune that had even a vague resemblance to any kind of known wizarding symbol.

The ward – or wards for what they knew – didn't respond to wand magic like every other ward did. They had tried numerous spells of cursebreaker's level to open the trapdoor, to overcharge its magic, to undo it, you name it.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Harry and Xenophilius were quite frustrated.

Luna came and went bringing blocks of sheets, beverages and news about the Tridestep Bunghog sleeping in the backyard. At the end of one of her trips, she came near Harry watching him casting spells and reporting something on a piece of parchment. She hadn't said anything during all the previous conversation about Harry "the time-traveler" Potter, but apparently, she did have something to say.

"So… you traveled back in time?"

"Yep," replied Harry continuing to write down what effects his spells had.

"And you are twenty-seven years old?"

"Huh huh."

"But in human or in dog years?"

Harry thought about it for a moment before making up his mind, but the question demanded that he gave all his attention to the one who had asked it. He put down the quill and turned around to watch her in the eyes. "In human years," he answered. "In dog years I'm four," he explained with certainty and Luna nodded.

"I'm freshly one," she said happily.

"Wow, you're a young lady then!"

"Thanks" she said sheepishly putting a strand of her dirty blond hair behind her ear and showing her large gray eyes.

Gray eyes?

"Luna, is that your natural eye color? Gray?" Harry asked puzzled.

"Yes, why?"

"Huh, nothing…"

So, that was what he found off in Luna's appearance. She had gray eyes. Future Luna's were blue more or less – certainly not gray – but apparently they had changed through the years, although he didn't remember her with anything different than blue eyes. Anyway, now that he had finally found out what bothered him, Harry felt more comfortable, although he had to admit he thought Future Luna's eyes were more attractive than Present Luna's.

Harry resumed his work and started reproducing one of the runes of the brass handle on a piece of parchment. It wasn't simple. Those runes were exceptionally elaborate.

Luna observed what Harry had just jotted down. "It looks like a hoof," she said.

"More like a claw really," replied Harry after an instant of assessment.

"It doesn't seem like a claw at all. It resembles a hoof."

"Yeah? And what would this thing be?" asked Harry in a mocking tone pointing at a part of the rune slightly crooked.

"It's clearly a blade of grass partially trapped under the hoof," Luna answered immediately.

Harry laughed derisively. "That's a claw!"

"A hoof!"

"A claw!"

"A hoof!"

Xenophilius was a little annoyed by all the noises the two kids were producing, but fortunately, the argument didn't went on much longer… just another five minutes… without the littlest variation...

When Luna had finally gone back to the sleeping Bunghog and there was silence in the shack once again, the man gave up his work on the trapdoor and stashed his wand in his pocket. He turned towards Harry who was jotting down some runes muttering something about stupid hooves under his breath.

"I don't think it's a human ward, Harry," he said.

The boy sighed lightly, moving his eyes from the parchment to meet Xenophilius'.

While neither of them had yet voiced it because of the consequences it would have meant, that idea had been lingering in the air for quite some time.

"Me too," Harry said. "The runes are carved perfectly, but they just don't make sense. They don't seem to follow any geometrical pattern, nor represent anything existent." The boy paused for a moment scratching his chin. "They're just like baby doodles. They seem completely random."

The man nodded in agreement and the two of them remained silent for a while.

It was in these occasions that Harry really longed for a Dumbledore-like beard to stroke pensively.

A non-human ward…

It was absolutely a first, a never-heard thing. Creatures like Giants, Goblins, House-Elves… they all have magic, but not refined enough to create an actual ward. Enchantments? Sure, Goblins are renown for them. Spells? Just watch a House-Elf snap his fingers. But a ward? No, it had always been judged impossible. Only Wizards can create wards. Giants can in some instances overwhelm one with their physical strength and high magical resistance. Goblins can collapse one given the proper enchanted artifacts and such. House-Elves can pop in a out of one in most occasions. But create one? It's impossible. Only Wizards can create wards, everybody knew it.

And yet, here in front of Harry Potter and Xenophilius Lovegood, there appeared to be prove of it being inexact.

"I'm sorry Harry, but I think there's nothing I can do," Xenophilius said facing the magic of the runes and finally breaking the silence. "I wasn't even aware of the existence of this trapdoor despite this had been the Lovegood property for centuries. Maybe in the family library…"

The man paused in mid-sentence. It sounded elaborated, unnaturally so, like it was meant to forcefully attract Harry's attention.

It accomplished it perfectly.

"The family library?" the boy asked.

Xenophilius turned around with a malicious smile on his face and a gleam in his eyes. "Yes, the Lovegood family had always had a great library. Many of the books in it had been written by my ancestors – some by me as well. There is the history of my House in that library, and much much more. Would you like to search your answers there?" he asked in an alluring tone.

Harry was a little wary. He had known Xenophilius very well in his previous life, and he knew the man hadn't been in Slytherin for nothing. But, what the hell, Harry wanted to unravel this mystery, and searching in that library could have been the only possible way. He wasn't thinking anymore about jumping again into the passageway to enjoy another month before going to Hogwarts. He wasn't thinking about poor Quirrell's destiny neither. What he wanted now was to find out what the hell that trapdoor was.

"It would be great, sir," he said with a determined expression and Xenophilius grinned wolfishly.

"It isn't common for an outsider to gain access to the Lovegood library, but it has been done in the past under particular conditions. Let's make a deal, shall we?"

Harry nodded and Xenophilius' smile widened even more. The man put his hand on Harry's shoulder and turned him around driving him gently towards the door of the shack.

"Come with me. We have to talk."

They exited the little shack leaving scattered pieces of parchment, some quills and the mysterious trapdoor behind.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The first of September at half past ten in the morning, Harry Potter stood in front of the platform nine and three-quarters ready for Hogwarts and his first year… sort of. He had brought his trunk right in front of the barrier and Hedwig's cage rested on it. The owl was currently glaring with her yellow eyes at all the passersby who kept on staring at her like she was a zoo animal of some sort – really… –, and she had previously ruffled her white feathers, in a quite snobbish gesture. Harry had just shook his head at her with an amused expression.

The summer heat seemed to have taken a day off and for the first time in weeks, it was finally possible to breath again without fear of internal combustion. Harry wore a white T-shirt with some sort of brown logo in the front, gray trousers and white shoes. His hair was messy as always and a black fringe concealed the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. His two wands were each in its proper holster, the old one on his left forearm – hidden by a notice-me-not and a disillusionment charm –, and the new one on his right, in plain sight because of his short sleeve.

He had also charmed his trunk lighter in order to push and heave it easily, something that without magic was completely impossible for him to do at the moment, firstly because he was a little boy now, and secondly because the trunk was heavier than ever. The fact that there were a lot more books than just his school ones could partially explain it.

He was bringing to Hogwarts fifteen of the hundreds books belonging to the Lovegood family library. He had in fact accepted Xenophilius' offer – quite happily actually.

Harry Potter was now the Hogwarts anonymous correspondent for the Quibbler.

It had happened very fast and the deal had been signed soon. Harry had become the only Quibbler reporter inside Hogwarts and would be paid with fifteen books – borrowed – from the Lovegood library per article.

Harry thought it was a fair payment especially considering he was looking forward to write those articles more than reading those books, or almost anyway. Xenophilius had told him he had tried for years to hire someone to write from Hogwarts for him, but he had never found anyone willing and/or capable. He could have waited till the next year and Luna's stay at Hogwarts, but the girl had admitted she wasn't very interested in it and the man didn't want to impose himself. Plus, despite he had talked to Harry for just a few hours, Mr. Lovegood had seemed sure the boy would have been perfect for the job. And most importantly, the man wouldn't even have to fork out money to pay him, and that was certainly a good thing.

Anyway, Harry already felt a little sorry for Snape, who was about to become the main target of his articles. Poor Snivellus… he won't know what hit him.

"Harry!"

The shout interrupted his musings and he turned around to see Ron Weasley advancing fast towards him, pushing his trunk with a big grin on his face.

"Hey Ron."

"How are you?"

Harry just nodded and asked "You?"

Ron narrowed his eyes playfully. "I'm fine… are you still talking in monosyllables?"

"No," the dark haired boy replied dryly chuckling, and the red-head laughed too.

"Yeah, I can see that."

Ron was soon flanked by the Weasley clan, a sea of freckled red. George and Fred stood at each side of their younger brother roughly matching his height, Molly was a step behind them with a sheepish Ginny in tow, and Percy stood at little distance on the right, a small pout on his face. It could have been an intimidating sight if it hadn't been for the smiles on almost every face.

"Hello," greeted Harry with a nod and a grin of his own.

"Hello dear," Mrs. Weasley replied with a gentle smile. "Ron, why don't you introduce us to your friend?"

"Huh, okay…" Ron stammered a little, uncertainly. "Harry, Family. Family, Harry," he offered simply before seeing the reprimanding expression on his mother's face. "Huh… these are Fred and George" he continued pointing vaguely at his two identical brothers, "Percy," he nodded in the Prefect direction, "my mother," and here he blushed beet red childishly, "and behind her, my little sister Ginny. He's Harry," he then said addressing his family. "Dad and me met him at the Cannons match," finished the boy lamely – and incorrectly –, shrugging self-conscious.

Harry nodded at everyone and spared a "Hi" for the uncomfortable little girl. The Weasleys replied with polite nods and cheery waves.

"Ah, so you are the boy my husband told me about. It's a pleasure to meet you. He had only good things to say about you," Molly said.

"Mr. Weasley must have omitted a good portion of our meeting then," replied Harry grinning. "But thank you anyways."

The woman smiled curiously at him and then addressed the twins for the last warnings and threats. The two were keeping on glancing at him and so was their sister.

Harry ignored it and involved Ron in a conversation.

"So, are you nervous?" he asked.

"Maybe a little…" replied the freckled boy. "But mostly, I'm hungry."

Harry shook his head, amused. Trust Ron to react with hunger to everything.

"Still ready to do the big jump if the great Slytherin will greet you in his open coils?"

Ron laughed, worried but not so much. "I had a talk with Dad and I think I will let the coils squeeze a little before eventually jumping."

Mrs. Weasley finally freed the twins and took a step forward. "All right, Percy, you go first."

The Prefect advanced towards the barrier and disappeared beyond it.

"Fred, George, you next," Molly continued. She turned towards the twins and found them rummaging in their trunks. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry Mom," replied one of the two. "We have to find something really important first. Go ahead with Ginny. We'll make sure Ron pass the barrier without problems."

The woman hesitated for an instant, then took hes daughter's hand and walked briskly towards platform nine and three-quarters, whispering instructions to her. When they weren't visible anymore, the twins straightened and fastened their trunks again. Apparently, they were lying. The two boys made their way towards Harry and Ron, two matching big grins on their faces.

"Are you him?" the one on the right asked Harry.

"Who?"

"Are you the Harry we think?" asked the left one.

"It depends… If you think I am Harry the Merry, you may be right."

The twins burst out laughing while Ron looked on with a puzzled frown. Fred and George kept on glancing at Harry's forehead until the one on the right asked…

"Are you Harry Potter?"

The dark haired boy smiled while Ron turned towards him with a flabbergasted expression on his face.

"Yeah, I am Harry Potter, twin number two," he answered addressing the red-head who had finally asked it outright.

"Why am I the number two?" said the twin in question with a mocking hurt expression and a hand on his heart.

"You're clearly the sidekick. I can tell."

The other twin was nodding his head in agreement. "True. True. The lad has a good eye, cannot deny it."

"What's your name?" Harry asked him grinning.

"George."

"No, that's your twin's probably. I bet you are Fred." Now both the Weasley boys were smiling openly. "I would like to continue to play with you, but I think we have a train to catch."

That said, Harry turned around, pushed his trunk and walked through the barrier.

Fred and George smiled faintly before turning towards their shocked little brother.

"You befriended the Boy-Who-Lived-"

"And you hadn't even noticed it."

"And Dad neither. But what is worse is that-"

"He is a Cannons' fanatic too!"

They tsked synchronically shaking their heads and then pushed the boy lightly.

"C'mon Ronnikins or we'll miss the train. Walk straight and you'll be there."

Ron did just that, his mouth still opening and closing repeatedly.

When he arrived on platform nine and three-quarters, it was only to find himself crushed in a bear-like hug. A mass of red hair obstructed his sight and soft sniffs reached his ears.

"Moooom," he complained loudly, blushing furiously.

Mrs. Weasley interrupted the hug but kept her youngest son at arm-length. "Behave yourself at Hogwarts. I don't want to receive Howlers from you as well." She let him go but added as an afterthought, "And study!"

"Yes, Mom."

"Now on the train before it departs! Your friend is already there."

Harry watched everything from not far away. He had immediately approached one of the compartment in the middle when he had seen the lean form of Rita Skeeter round on a poor little kid who vaguely resembled him.

He was about to board the Hogwarts Express, while listening to the Weasleys conversation and looking all around him at the students and parents exchanging their good-byes. When he heard the twins start talking about him, he heaved Hedwig's cage and his feather light trunk on the train and made his way in the narrow corridor. He passed various older students who he didn't recognize and when he reached the very last compartment, he glanced inside to find who he was looking for.

"Hey Rip!" he said opening the door. "How are you?"

At Harry's shouts, Ripcage startled badly, actually jumping up from his seated position near the window from where he was peering out. The half-goblin sat again, watching with a smile the newcomer tuck away his stuff.

"Fine considering I'm about to be lynched by all the Hogwarts' habitants," he said smiling grimily.

"Well, then as last meal, I suggest to raid the food cart and stuff ourselves with Chocolate Frogs, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands and most importantly Every Flavor Beans. If I find a green one that seems Avada Kedavra flavored, then I'll give it to you so you can die painlessly as last resort."

Ripcage chuckled, a little of his nervousness gone.

Harry finally sat in front of his friend near the window, and studied him intently.

The half-goblin was wearing a dark green robe on top of a pair of black cotton trousers. His brownish face appeared haggard because of too little sleep and the bags under his eyes proved it furthermore. His hair and eyes were changing color at fast speed, brightening and darkening alternatively, and his long-fingered hands clasped each other tightly. He was evidently tense.

"Relax mate. You wanted this for years. Now you have it," Harry said trying to sooth him. "We'll have fun and make friends. Actually I'm going to introduce another first year to you soon."

The half-goblin took a deep breath and seemed to calm down a little. Harry pressed on.

"I'm sure the Headmaster gave you this long and responsible speech about what to expect, how to react, who to trust and other such things regarding this school year." The dark haired boy waved dismissively with his hand. "I will only say: enjoy it. Do whatever you want – bury yourself in books, train from sunshine to sunset - or viceversa -, play exploding snap, chess and Quidditch all day long. It's you who decide, really. Just don't spend your day brooding about what others say or do. You can stay at Gringotts to do that."

Harry watched his friend's face gradually gain determination, his hair and eyes stabilizing themselves to green. Ripcage gave him a resolute nod and a thankful half-smile. Harry just grinned.

Right at that moment, a whistle sounded from the platform and the intensity of the shouted goodbyes between students and parents seemed to intensify. A few seconds later, the Hogwarts Express took speed and departed from platform nine and three-quarters.

Ripcage let out a deep breath watching out of the window.

"We're off."

Suddenly, the door of the compartment slid open and Ron took a step in, dragging his trunk.

"Harry! Why didn't you tell me-" he started addressing the dark haired boy only to then interrupt himself after his eyes had shifted on Ripcage.

Ron stared at the half-goblin completely still, open-mouthed and with an expression of pure shock on his face. He stared at Rip's brown and wrinkled skin, at his long fingers, at his purple hair and at his slightly pointed teeth now set in a threatening grin. The Weasley youngest son hadn't been very often at Gringotts, but even he did see that the one in front of him wasn't a normal goblin. If his brain had been working, it would have probably considered if bolt out of the compartment or if shut itself down along with his consciousness.

Harry grinned despite he was trying not to. He stood up and took Ron's trunk from his hand.

"Come in Ron and sit down," he told the red-head, stacking the luggage in a corner. "And close your mouth" he added while the other boy complied, his mouth still open, his eyes never leaving the half-goblin who continued to show his teeth menacingly.

Harry closed the door and took his seat again.

"Rip, that is a reaction you'll probably see very often the first days of school," the dark haired boy said cheerily waving in Ron's general direction. "You probably should wear a T-Shirt that says 'I'm half-goblin. So what?' or something similar, but nobody would see it under the Hogwarts robe." He shrugged a little before his expression became thoughtful. "Although a hat could be useful… Anyway, Ron, this is Rip. Rip, this is Ron. It sounds like some kind of cartoon characters – Rip, Ron and their great adventures. Eww…"

The red-head seemed to finally regain his composure.

"Hi… err…" he told Rip. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Uhm… sorry if I…"

"Stared," Harry finished for him.

"Yeah," said Ron blushing beet red. "Sorry."

The half goblin let his face turn expressionless. "Okay."

"So you are… huh… half-goblin?" Ron asked.

"Yes."

The boy turned towards Harry.

"And you are… huh… Harry Potter?"

"Yep."

"Huh… Okay."

The compartment door slid open again revealing Fred and George.

"Hey Ron, we're going down the middle… of… the… train…" they said contemporary trailing off once they saw Ripcage. The half-goblin was at the limit of his patience. Another second of that shocked staring and he would have drawn his enchanted knife and set the two red-heads on fire.

Fortunately and surprisingly, he didn't need to do it, because Ron jumped up and shouted at his brothers.

"Don't stare like that! You are being rude! Where did you left your manners, in your trunks? Go away and don't bother us!"

He shut the door forcefully in his brothers' faces and draw the curtains, leaving behind an even more shocked pair of twins. When he turned around he found Harry and Ripcage with their eyebrows lifted.

"Sorry," he said grinning sheepishly. "Just a little revenge for a couple of things…"

"I can imagine," nodded Harry. "Twins can be quite problematic at times."

"What do you mean?"

"Well… I think I had a twin in a previous life or something, and he was a spoiled git who always took credit for all the good things I did," the dark haired boy said with a bit of annoyance in his voice.

"Huh, I don't know about that, but Fred and George are perfect to each other. It's to others that they are unbearable! Only Bill, my oldest brother, can subdue them a little."

"How many brothers have you got?" asked Rip who found a large family very interesting. Goblins don't, or better, can't have more than two children. It's a genetic thing.

"Five brothers, all older than me, and one sister."

"And they all go to Hogwarts?"

"No, just the twins – they're third years – and Percy – he's a fifth year. Bill and Charlie graduated already, and now Charlie studies dragons in Romania and Bill works for Gringotts… maybe you know him?" Ron half-asked.

"No, sorry. I'm not allowed to work with humans," Rip answered shifting on his seat, a little self-conscious.

"Oh. Because you are…" the red head made a vague gesture with is hand and the half-goblin just nodded.

"Oh," Ron murmured again. "And what's with your hair and eyes?"

"I'm a Metamorphmagus."

"Wow. My dad says they're pretty rare. It has to be great to be one!" exclaimed Ron fascinated while he watched Rip's hair shorten and become brown.

Harry could clearly see how this kind of attention was completely a new thing for the half-goblin. Oh yes, Ripcage was used to all the stares and whispers, but they were always shocked, distrustful, horrified reactions. But now, this red haired boy was watching him with interest and something comparable to awe.

The half-goblin smiled a little and turned his hair red, very similarly to the Weasleys' color. Ron whispered another fascinated "Wow".

The three of them talked for a while, all the previous tension seemingly gone. They talked about Rip's ability, Ron's family, Harry's scar and, obviously, Hogwarts.

At some point during the conversation when Ron was commenting on how everything he had was second hand, the boy reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat. Harry's eyes narrowed a little and a strange smile appeared on his face.

"This is Scabbers. He was Percy's pet, but now that he has been made a Prefect, he got an owl from my dad. So Scabbers is mine now. All he does is sleep. He's useless…" said the Weasley youngest son. The rat continued to sleep, unabashed by Ron's attentions, the sunlight, and all the noises a train full of excited children can produce.

"You could always cook it," suggested Ripcage and the red-head chuckled a little before realizing that the half-goblin wasn't joking at all.

"You would eat him?" Ron asked more than a little disgusted.

"With olive oil, salt and lemon… sure, why not?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the image of a "Wormtail" Sandwich in his mind, but the Weasley boy just made a nauseated face wrinkling his long nose while looking at the rat on his lap. He decided it was better not to continue that discussion.

"Anyway," he then said regaining his composure and not noticing the grin on Rip's face, "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you. Look..."

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway…" He shrugged a little before intoning, "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!"

Ripcage, who had been holding his breath in excitement, was a little disappointed when Ron waved his wand and nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

"Wasn't something supposed to happen?" the half-goblin asked curiously.

"Yeah, it was," huffed Ron annoyed. "Stupid spell – George gave it to me… bet he knew it was a dud."

"Pity," Harry said. "It was a cool incantation."

"Yeah, wasn't it?" agreed Rip. "How was it again?"

The train soon left London and ventured into huge and colorful fields, and when the cart lady opened the compartment door to ask if they wanted anything, Harry kept his promise and bought an incredible amount of sweets that he shared with his two friends and – unwillingly – with Scabbers who woke long enough to swallow half a Cauldron Cake.

They talked and ate for a long time before the compartment door slid open again.

Neville Longbottom came in, his round face twisted in an almost desperate expression. His elegant robe would have made an impression maybe, if it hadn't been for a series of reddish little spots – probably jam – at chest level.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

Ron and Rip shook their heads, while Harry showed a Chocolate Frog in his hand with a gentle smile. The boy smiled a little as well, but just for a moment, before his expression turned sad again.

"I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!" he whined.

"Here," said Harry taking his new wand in hand. "I'll find him. What's his name?"

"Trevor," replied the chubby boy looking at him and his wand with wide eyes.

"_Accio Trevor_."

Soon enough, Trevor came flying steadily from the back of the train and entered the compartment, ending on Harry's lap. The dark haired boy took the toad in his left hand and offered him to Neville.

"Thank you!" the blonde boy half-shouted with his high-pitched voice. He held Trevor tightly to his chest, cooing over him softly, before he seemed to remember that various people were watching him, so he stopped and blushed furiously. The toad made gurgling sounds that attracted Scabbers' attention. The rat lifted his head from Ron's lap and regarded Neville's pet with a sleepy expression.

Right at that moment, they heard running footsteps and a little girl appeared in the doorway. She had bushy brown hair, rather large front teeth, and she was already wearing her new Hogwarts robe. Hermione Granger was puffing slightly, her face a little red.

"Neville! I saw a toad fly past me at the back of the train and I thought it was Trevor. I wanted to catch it before he could be hurt, but he was going too fast and I had to sidestep a lot of students who were wandering through the corridor. But I see you have him now and he's okay. How did you do it? Was that some kind of magic?" the girl said all in one breath, looking at Neville and at all the other boys in the compartment. Her gaze lingered a little on Ripcage, but then fixed itself on Harry's wand.

The dark-haired boy answered immediately… singing. "It's a kind of magic. It's a kind of magiiiic. It's a kind of magic. One dream, one soul…"

He stopped fairly early because everybody was watching him like he was insane. Hedwig too.

"What kind of Englishmen are you if you don't like Queen?" Harry said angrily. "Tell me that the Beatles suck too then, and I'll jump off the train right now!"

There was a pause in which everybody seemed to consider Harry's words.

"Technically I'm only _half_ Englishmen," Rip replied thoughtfully.

"And I'm an English_woman_" specified Hermione.

"Huh… I'm half Scot," added Ron quickly.

Everybody turned towards Neville – yes, Hedwig too – who looked around as if searching for help.

"I… I like the Beatles," he stammered uncertainly.

Harry though about it for a moment before nodding. "Alright."

It was Hermione the one who broke the following silence… obviously.

"So that was magic, right?" she asked watching the dark haired boy. "I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all. It was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard. I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

"I'm Harry," the dark haired boy replied.

"Ron Weasley," the red-head said, sparing a curious glance at his friend who seemed to never introduce himself… properly.

"I'm Ripcage."

"Ah, I'm Neville Longbottom… ah, nice to meet you," the round boy said shyly still clutching Trevor tightly.

"Are we all first years?" the girl asked and everyone nodded. "So what spell did you use to make Trevor fly like that?"

"It's called the summoning charm. It can be really useful," Harry answered, and when he finished, his eyes glimmered a little and a grin threatened to split his face in two. "And I know many other spells. I could teach you if you want."

All four heads nodded and Harry stretched his left arm towards Scabbers on Ron's lap. "May I? I will only put him to sleep," he asked the boy.

The Weasley youngest son shrugged and passed him the rat. "Sure… although for once that he was awake…"

Harry took Scabbers in his left hand, squeezing more than what was really necessary, and then put him on the empty seat next to him. Ron's pet squealed a little in distress at the boy's roughness, but soon enough he found himself on a soft cushion so he stopped complaining. He kept his liquid eyes up on the kids in the compartment and fearfully took a few steps backwards – no easy feat for a rat – when the dark haired boy pointed his wand at him.

Harry was grinning so much his cheeks hurt. Oh, how he would love this. And after all, he _did_ have promised Kreacher that he would have briought him his Master. He would simply combine business with pleasure. Or maybe pleasure with pleasure, considering who that Master was going to be.

The old elf had all but hugged him when he had told him that his Master would have been at home in a month, top. The little bugger had sworn and promised repeatedly, with the solemnity of a teenage-girl who has to keep her friend's secrets, that the house would be ready for his Master, when actually it had been shiny and perfect for two weeks and more. Harry had tried to calm him down a little, but the psychotic elf was hyperactive all right, and Harry could not order him around. They were not bonded and on top of it, Kreacher didn't think of the boy as a wizard to serve. Hell, maybe he didn't even consider him a wizard at all! A buddy House-Elf – that was more like it.

Anyway, it was time to set in motion the plan to help Sirius Black exit Azkaban, and if he could do it and conteporary have fun, then all the better. It certainly wouldn't be the canine Marauder to criticize him for it.

"Right," he said with a big grin on his face. "Watch and listen very carefully. _Stupefy!_"

Hermione, Ron, Neville and Ripcage all watched in awe as a red light started from the tip of Harry's wand and hit the little form of Scabbers, engulfing him for a second before disappearing. The rat who had been left in its wake was once again asleep.

Ron stood up and accosted a ear to his pet. "He's snoring already," he breathed softly.

"Neat, huh?" Harry said. "Come on. Try it."

Everybody drew his wand and tried casting the spell. Harry encouraged them, gave them suggestions and corrections after their first failures. He seemed very willing to repeat the Stunner on Scabbers, to show them the proper waves and pronunciation of course, again, and again, and again. After a while, no one had yet been able to manage it, so Harry proposed them other spells to try.

Soon enough, Wormtail was sporting a very furry tail, blue skin, knees on the wrong side of his paws, and had been stunned at least fifteen times. While all the Stunners had been Harry's doing, after a while Hermione had been able to lengthen the fur on the rat's tail, and Ron to color him from yellow to blue. Ripcage and Neville hadn't managed anything yet, but they hadn't any intention of giving up, and they were having fun anyway, talking about Hogwarts, the four Houses and magic in general.

After some time, Hermione left the compartment with a proud expression on her face – having changed Scabbers's skin color too – to speak with the conductor of the train. Neville had just been able to lengthen the rat's fur a little more when the door slid open again and three boys stepped in. Draco Malfoy was in the middle, his pale blond hair slick and slicked as usual. His pointed chin was sharp as ever, but his gray eyes lacked that cold quality that had been very evident in Future Draco. The boy was flanked by his two wannabe thugs, Crabbe and Goyle, who didn't even deserve first name mentioning. They were thickset, stupid-looking and stupid-being.

Malfoy jr. looked at everybody in the compartment and, quite predictably, stopped his gaze on the strange goblinish boy who sat near the window. Have I really to describe his reaction? Go reread Ron's. It was not that different. Suffice to say, for about five seconds, all the three newcomers seemed of very similar IQ… a very low one.

"Hey there," said Harry snapping his fingers in front of their faces and breaking their stares. "Did you want something?"

Draco opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, his eyes darting back and forth from Harry to Ripcage, his expression still very shocked.

"Ehm… I'm Draco Malfoy. I heard that Harry Potter's in this compartment," he seemed to prefer to ignore the half-goblin for the moment. "It's you, isn't it?"

"Yep," Harry nodded, ignoring Neville's head snapping in his direction. He didn't have to look to know that his brown eyes were currently wide.

Malfoy jr. was still stunned. "Hum… well, I wanted to… hum... I wanted to… Excuse me, but what in Salazar name is that thing?" the boy asked finally with apparent disgust.

The temperature in the compartment seemed to drop abruptly, and the pale boy suddenly noticed how everyone in front of him held a wand in hand, including that creature, who was now showing menacing pointed teeth and narrowed red eyes.

"That _thing_ is a person and a friend of mine. You should try and remember it, McFinn," Harry said in a dangerous tone.

"My name is Malfoy!" Draco snarled, but Harry waved dismissively with his hand.

"Whatever. Now, what did you want?" he asked. Ripcage behind him had been happy to hear those words from Harry. It was the first time someone called him a friend. His hair and eyes changed to a bright green for a moment before the half-goblin turned again to glare at the pale boy in front of them. Red eyes seemed preferable to glare so he changed them back.

"I wanted to meet the famous Boy-Who-Lived and help him avoid the wrong sort, but I see you already surrounded yourself with it." He sneered in Ron, Ripcage, and surprisingly, Neville direction with contempt, disgust and derision exactly in that order.

"Thank you very much for your great help, Muffin," Harry answered ignoring the angry shout of "Malfoy!" from the pale boy. "Now I know that what you consider the _right _sort resembles very much a human-shaped mass of dung and I have to say that's not really the kind of company I enjoy."

Draco's eyes widened in rage and he started breathing hard as if he was desperately trying to maintain control while Ron snickered. His usually pale face now had a strong tint of red. "Watch your mouth, Potter," he all but whispered, his voice partly broken by the anger, but he seemed to be unable to say more.

"If you're finished here, I suggest you go back to your compartment, Mallory," Harry finished.

Draco seemed to want to shout his correct name again but in the end he just waved his hands in the air and stormed out of the compartment shouting something that sounded suspiciously like a "Ahhrrgg!". Two very bewildered Crabbe and Goyle followed him diligently.

As soon as the three boys disappeared, Ron started snickering again, soon mirrored by Harry and Neville.

After a couple of seconds, the dark haired boy stopped abruptly and addressed the red-head. "You think it's funny, Weatherby?"

They started laughing loudly at that, and even Rip cracked a smile.

"Stop joking around!" came Hermione's voice from the doorway. She stood with her hands on the hips and had her patented bossy expression on her face. "You'd better hurry up and put your robes on. I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors." Her disapproving tone and sniffy voice would have made Professor McGonagall proud.

Harry turned towards her and patted the cushion next to him, while placing his wand in its right holster again. "Hermione, come here. Sit down."

The girl hesitated an instant before doing what the boy told her. As soon as she was seated next to him, Harry assaulted her, tickling her mercilessly. At first she tried to swat his hands away, but the more she laughed the more she lost energies. In the end she could only trash on her seat trying to cover her most ticklish areas.

When Harry stopped after about thirty seconds of that torture, she was breathless, red-faced and giggling like a madwoman. Everybody had those silly grins on their faces because you can't remain serious when someone is laughing like that. It's something contagious.

"Harry… you… you…" the girl screeched between giggles.

"Thank you, Hermione," replied Harry grinning.

"You should see your face!" Ron laughed.

"Yeah… You're all red," added Neville gesturing to his cheecks with his hands, smiling. "It's like you want to be angry but you can't."

She seemed to finally regain her composure. She tried to glare at Harry but the silly grin on her face didn't want to disappear. "Why did you do that?"

Harry watched her seriously.

"Hermione... you say you disapprove of childish behavior. But we _are _children. We act like children. We think like children." He smiled gently. "And you are a child too."

Silence descended in the compartment. All eyes were pointed on the dark haired boy and the bushy haired girl. Hermione was still very red and after a few seconds of eye contact with Harry, she had looked down. She made to speak a couple of times, but in the end she stood up and stopped on the doorway, her back towards the boys.

"You'd better put your robes on. We're nearly there," she said in a small voice before disappearing in the back of the train.

The four boys exchanged uncertain glances in the silence that followed. Then Harry clapped his hands once and rubbed them together. He looked out of the window and saw that the sky was darkening and the train was slowing down.

"Okay!" he shouted cheerily. "Let's change!"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Author's notes – The color of Luna's eyes will be important later. For now, just know that "Future" Luna has blue eyes, while "Present" Luna's are gray.

I fixed the other mistakes you signaled. Thank you.

I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter, but whatever. Let me know what you think.


	5. Harry's Second First Week of School

Disclaimer – If by reading this story, you find elements that are similar and/or about something you wrote, then you are either JKR (who owns the Harry Potter Universe by the way) or another fanfiction author who I chose to compliment, criticize or mock somewhere in here. Enjoy.

Warning – Very long chapter ahead.

Chapter 5: Harry's Second First Week of School

"Firs' years! Firs' years, over here!"

On the crowded platform of Hogsmeade's station, Harry Potter pushed his way towards Hagrid's booming voice. The half-giant was clearly visible under the light of the big lamp he held in his even bigger hand. The evening was plunged into darkness and cold, and the first years seemed to gather there for protection from them both.

Soon, Harry found himself standing right next to Hagrid, and he had to crane his neck upwards in a very uncomfortable manner to look at the hairy face. The game-keeper of Hogwarts was restless, watching every face in the little group assembled around him intently, with an almost panicked expression. He seemed to be searching for someone, and Harry had a good guess for whom.

Sure enough, when the half-giant's eyes lowered on himself and Ripcage, his searching glances stopped. Tears started appearing up there in that moved face, and Harry was pretty sure the half-goblin to his right, and perhaps himself as well, were about to be crushed to death in a bear-like hug. Instead, Hagrid simply made to talk but seeing as he was being watched by all the midgets surrounding him, he just turned around on his spot and with a broken voice said, "Follow me – sniff – and mind yer step."

Everyone complied, exchanging some interrogative or awed looks. Ripcage turned towards Harry with a wary, slightly worried expression, but the dark-haired boy just grinned, mouthing the word 'Later' and gesturing with his hand.

They followed Hagrid as he started strolling down a narrow, muddy path. Keeping up easily with the large steps of the half-giant, Harry skipped happily and surely on the familiar – though slippery – ground. The other students took it more slowly, staring at their own feet so intently that it took them some seconds longer than necessary to notice the smashing sight of Hogwarts' castle.

When the first 'Ooooh' started, there was no stopping them. Soon enough at the edge of the Black Lake, an abrupt intake of breaths and whispered exclamations of awe resonated. The various noises coming from the nearby Black Lake and the near Forbidden Forest completed that metaphysical symphony.

Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight. Merlin bless the four Founders for choosing this place for their school! The castle seemed to be a light fest to which they were all invited, and the lake's waters glimmered under it in a breath-taking kaleidoscope of colours, and even the almost full moon in the sky seemed to pale in comparison. A cold breeze slithered through the students, making the warm-looking castle appear even more inviting.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Hagrid asked nobody in particular, lost in a contemplative state. "Hogwarts…"

A half-giant's contemplative state doesn't last long apparently, because his voice turned from reverent to business-like in less than a second. "No more'n four to a boat!" he called, pointing to some little boats shored near the water.

Harry made his way towards the first one, and boarded it together with Ripcage, Ron, and Neville, who was still clutching his toad for his life. Wormtail instead was nowhere to be seen. Pity... a little bath in the cold lake waters would have been interesting. Can rats swim? Probably. But can they do it with knees on the wrong side of their legs? Stunned all the while? Harry found himself very eager to find out.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, checking the shore and the boats- Harry's and Ripcage's twice. "Right then. Forward!"

When they started moving, Harry advanced to the very tip of his boat and knelt there, reaching with his hand and seemingly patting the empty air. His friends watched him curiously.

"Err... what are you doing, Harry?" Ron asked.

"I'm just greeting and thanking the White Accolate," he answered, turning his head around.

"The white what?"

"How do you think these boats are moving, Ron?"

"Uhm... magic?" the red-head said with a chuckle.

Harry stood up and gestured for his friends to approach him. "Come here, but just one of you at a time."

Ron gingerly advanced on his already abnormally big feet till he arrived beside Harry. The dark-haired boy made him crouch and told him what to do. Ron complied and he soon found himself patting something wet and soft with his hand. Much to his astonishment, he even heard a strange gurgling sound as if something was making little bubbles under the water.

"Wicked!"

Harry nodded. "Very."

"White Accolade, you said?"

"Accolate."

"What is it exactly?"

"Well, it's a very intelligent magical creature, with the characteristics of an amphibian," Harry started explaining while Ripcage and Neville both experienced what a White Accolate felt like. Soon enough, the nearest boats were doing it as well. "It's actually an honor that they accepted to drag our boats to Hogwarts. They made an accord with the Headmaster, I think."

He started patting the one in front of their boat again. "They stay here in this lake only from the middle of August till the end of September to mate and lay their eggs. Then they go away to less cold places."

Harry noticed that Hagrid was now regarding him with wide eyes from his own boat. "Yes, Hagrid?"

"Yeh... yeh can see 'em?" he stammered, and everyone in ear-shot observed them curiously.

"Course not," Harry lied.

"Ah, okay," the half-giant sighed, apparently relieved. "Because yeh can only see 'em if yeh had sssssssssss–" he trailed off in the end, glancing around at the other young, innocent students listening in. He abruptly turned around towards the approaching castle and ignored everything else.

"Only if you had what?" someone, sounding suspiciously like Hermione, asked from another boat.

Harry chuckled a little as Hagrid started whistling to himself in an attempt at seeming busy that _really_ worked.

"I'll tell you when you're older," Harry said, and someone grumbled. He sure wouldn't be the one to give all these kids The Talk.

"Why are they invisible?" Neville asked. "I mean... what is it that makes them invisible, exactly?"

Harry seemed thoughtful for a second before smiling. "I think Ron knows why."

Neville and Ripcage both turned towards the red-head who was grinning sheepishly. "Err... magic?"

Harry just grinned back at him.

They soon reached the harbor that seemed to lie underneath the castle itself, and climbed out of the boats. Hagrid checked them, and whispered something to a White Accolate, probably the leader. The half-giant then shuffled his feet towards Harry, lowered his eyes to his shoes, and whispered something the boy first made an effort to hear, and then to accept.

"Yeh know... I... I can't see 'em either..."

The dark-haired boy was somewhat flabbergasted. Hagrid had never had sex? Well it wasn't so impossible to believe now that he thought about it. His, ah... _size _could represent a problem in that particular instance. But why the hell was he telling him?

"You can't?" Harry asked for clarification, too loudly for Hagrid's tastes.

"Shhh," the half-giant hissed nervously, twisting his hands self-consciously.

"Oops, sorry."

"How... do yeh know what they look like?" he asked.

Harry smiled, and gestured to the gamekeeper to followhim to an isolated corner, far away from prying ears. "Hagrid, have you ever been to Beauxbatons?"

The half-giant finally lifted his eyes to meet Harry's. "Beauxbatons? No," he said, confused.

"Well," continued the boy, "the Headmistress there... I think she could be your type, if you get what I mean..." Hagrid furrowed his brow furthermore, clearly not getting it. Not exactly the brightest of all, Hagrid. But a great man, or half-man, all the same. "Never mind… just ask Headmaster Dumbledore about it, okay?" he added, starting towards his fellow students again, until a strong hand on his shoulder stopped him short.

When he turned around, he found himself face-to-face with a crouched and clearly moved half-giant. "Harry... I wanted to tell yeh... sniff... thanks... sniff... fer Ripcage, I mean... and..."

"It's quite alright," little Harry Potter said, patting a crying Rubeus Hagrid on the head in a scene that would be remembered and recounted at Hogwarts for years to come. When the half-giant recomposed himself, after a last weepy glance at Ripcage and the help of the ever-present handkerchief, they both joined the group of students and started walking up a stone staircase until they reached a big oak door.

Ron stepped to Harry's left, and looked at him with wide eyes.

"You're not normal, you know that, right?" he asked.

"Aw, you say the sweetest things," was the dark-haired boy's reply.

"No, seriously. You're not normal," he insisted.

"Naaah…" Harry shrugged. "I think it's all a matter of perspectives."

"Okay," Ron said pausing a little. "Then you're not normal by human perspectives." Neville nodded next to him.

"If it helps," Rip added, falling to Harry's right, "you're not normal by goblin perspectives either."

Harry opened his mouth to answer that, but whatever defense he was about to offer, it was interrupted by Hagrid who, after sniffing a couple of times more, knocked three times on the castle door. It swung open immediately and Professor McGonagall appeared in the entryway, her stern expression quickly turning into an interrogative, slightly concerned one.

"Hagrid, is everything okay?" she asked, seeing his puffy red eyes and the handkerchief in his hands.

The half-giant mumbled something incomprehensible, gave another sniff, a little embarrassed, before stating in a clearer voice, "The firs' years, Professor."

The woman spared a last somewhat skeptic glance at him, before turning to the young students. "Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide, and spun on her heel, expecting to be followed at once. The first years did so, looking all the while at the big Entrance Hall and at the magnificent marble staircase. Many turned towards the doors leading to the Great Hall, their attention drawn by the sounds produced by the older students already gathered in there, but they were forced to follow the stern-looking Professor towards a smaller room on the other side of the entrance.

Harry stepped in and found himself squeezed between Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones in a Hufflepuff sandwich. In four or five years the experience would have been very, very pleasant, but at the moment it just felt constricting. He bumped into the red-head a little when the blonde pushed him from behind, apologized, and then finally managed to slip out of the horde of children and into an empty corner. He waited roughly ten seconds for the other students to spread about in the little room, before reaching Ron, Rip and Neville again.

Professor McGonagall began her speech, but the dark-haired boy didn't pay attention to it. He instead mused about the sorting ceremony ahead. He had finally made up his mind, after whole seconds and seconds of thinking. Harry Potter would be a Hufflepuff this time. It was decided. He didn't know the exact reason why he had come to that conclusion, but he was almost sure that it had something to do with sandwichs... Anyway, he would convince the Sorting Hat once the magical artifact asked him about it. It wouldn't be easy and could take a while, but he had the perfect way to reach his goal;

_Anything but Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Anything but Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Slytherin._

He rehearsed the sentence a couple of times and found it satisfying. Yep, it was perfect. Surely the hat would be convinced by such a persuasive argument.

McGonagall's voice was soon replaced by the first years', who started speaking in hushed tones as she stepped out of the room. Theories about the sorting flew all around, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle at some of them. When a particularly fancy one involving carnivorous plants and poisonous snakes was offered, Harry decided to put in his two cents.

"No, guys, it's nothing of the sort," he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "You just have to put a magical hat on your head. The hat then rummages through your mind and then…" He noticed how all the students were watching him intently, and he concentrated on hiding a grin before continuing in a voice perfect for a ghost story around a fire at night. "And then, it searches for your most terrifying fears and makes you live them time and time again until you pass out. Depending on how long you resist, the hat places you in the proper house. I really hope you're not Gryffindor material, because they usually live that hell the longest." He saw his audience gulp as an eerie silence descended in the room.

After a couple of seconds, he smiled cheerily. "Just kidding!"

The young students exhaled a relieved sigh all at once, only for screaming and startling the next second, at the sudden appearance of the Hogwarts' ghosts from the back wall.

A ghost story indeed.

More than a dozen translucent figures floated through the small room in a more or less compact group speaking to each other, and seemingly unconcerned about the young impressionable minds they were scaring to death.

But there was a mind among the others that wasn't all that impressionable. It was Harry Potter's.

The boy ran towards and through the Hogwarts ghosts at high speed, taking them all transversally and eliciting exclamations of shock and shouts of outrage.

"What the–"

"How dare you?"

"How rude of you!"

"It's not proper behavior, young man!"

Harry ignored it all as he stopped in front of the wall, shuddering and shivering to the bone at the sensation, and giggling like a madman. He rubbed his arms underneath the Hogwarts uniform as he turned around with a huge grin on his face, the malicious gleam in his eyes fixed on the affronted ghosts. He giggled once more before launching again towards and through the pale shades, who scattered around wildly, trying to avoid contact with the insane boy.

"Why is he doing that?"

"What a despicable little boy!"

"Ah ah! Missed! Friar, you're too Fat for these games!"

"You're one to talk, Nicholas! You too were hit twice!"

"Yes, but I escaped the third time!"

Soon enough, in the small room, the scampering ghosts of Hogwarts started to inevitably float through the other students, and force them to dive away and occasionally through other ghosts. Some of the most prudish and snobbish ones decided that the situation was too childish for them and exited the little room using the walls, complaining about foolish mortals. At the same time some first years as well, either too scared or too proud, found shelter in the corners of the room. At some point a rather frisky Fat Friar took advantage of all the ruckus to pry under the Grey Lady's skirt, much to the amusement of Seamus Finnigan and Ripcage who were the only ones to notice it.

Harry continued his shivering run through the ghosts, pushing Ripcage, Ron, and Neville with him. He saw Hermione in a corner and answered her disapproving look with a disapproving pout. He crashed against other students more times than was possible to count, but he went through the Hogwarts' ghosts even more so.

That was the sight that greeted Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, when she came back into the room.

A swarm of chuckling and giggling ghosts and students chasing each other, while others crouched against the walls with frightened faces or amused smiles. She watched all this, wide-eyed behind those glasses of hers, and open-mouthed, lost in a transfixed state of sort.

That was, until a very daring Sir Nicholas floated through her.

The Gryffindor Head of House shivered and stiffened more than ever, like she had just been drenched with a bucket of ice-cold water. She then closed her lips in a thin line, and regarded the room with one last furious look.

_"ENOUGH!"_ she shouted, and all the people present, both dead and alive, slowly calmed down to a halt. However, they couldn't wipe those silly grins off of their faces.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What is the meaning of this?"

"We were just having a little fun, Professor," said Sir Nicholas who clearly wanted to die for a second time.

"Having... _fun_?" she hissed, burning a hole into the translucent ghost with her glare.

The Gryffindor's ghost shifted uncomfortably, his grin nowhere to be seen now. "Uhm... well..."

"Are you the one responsible for this, Sir Nicholas?" she asked in a frosty voice.

"Of course not!" he replied, utterly outraged that she could think that, really.

"Then who is?"

Students and ghosts alike looked around the room, searching for a mop of black hair, and raised their arms, hands and forefingers to point them in its precise direction.

Harry Potter let out a last giggle.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The first year students entered the Great Hall five minutes later, amidst thousands of floating candles and the curious looks from both the House and Head tables. They were noticeably late after all, fashionably so according to one Harry Potter, who, by the way, was the main cause of this delay. Professor McGonagall had tried and failed to assign him detention on his very first day of school, both because of the defense the boy had received from students and ghosts, and because of her own reluctance. Anyway, a long and stern lecture couldn't be avoided. When the Deputy Headmistress had felt like Mr. Potter had learnt his lesson, she chased the ghosts away and ordered the students to form a line and follow her.

However, that line was bound to be short-lived, and sure enough it was disrupted immediately upon stepping into the large dining room of Hogwarts. The first years couldn't help but look left, right and up, turning around to try and take everything in, and occasionally bumping into each other in their awe-struck states. But they couldn't help but freeze on the spot when Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool in front of them, and a second later, a dirty wizard's hat on top of it.

They all turned, very slowly, towards an expressionless dark-haired boy, their eyes wide with fear and wariness. Someone whimpered softly.

"Don't worry about it," Harry said with a soothing voice. "Remember, I was just kidding."

He turned his head to hide his grin and to look at the Head table, scanning the people seated there and noticing the absence of any new face. No DADA Professor yet? Pity, it would have been good to have a different target than Snape for his Quibbler's articles, and Gilderoy Lockhart could have been the right man for it. He nodded at Dumbledore and vaguely at the other teachers before giving his attention to the Sorting Hat.

He enjoyed its song a lot more this time around, appreciating its amusing lines and precise rhymes. He made a note to himself to tell the Hat just that during their predictably long conversation about the Hufflepuff rightness.

When the magical artifact ended the first part of its job, accompanied by the cheering and clapping of the older students, Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a scroll in her hands.

"When I call your name you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Hannah Abbott!"

Despite the Hat's song, the pig-tailed girl tossed an almost pleading look at Harry, as if she wanted him to save her from this possible torture. The boy just showed her two thumbs up and a reassuring grin, and finally she shakily advanced towards the stool, sat on it, and with trembling hands put the hat on her head. They all had to wait for maybe five seconds, before it shouted "HUFFLEPUFF!", and the table on the right started cheering and clapping.

One by one, all the first years were sorted into their proper Houses without any noticeable difference if not in timing – Hermione for example lasted longer on the stool than what Harry remembered from his first life. But in the end, she too ended up in the same House as the first time around, and he found himself eager to break this course of events. '_Hufflepuff! Hufflepuff!_' was the mantra in his head. He checked again his convincing argument to offer the Hat and when his time came, he stepped forward, ignoring the whispering of the Great Hall, and jammed the magical artifact confidently on his head. There was blackness for just a moment and then–

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The shout of the hat deafened and shocked him, and he could just stare open-mouthed at its inside. He tried to say something, but it only came out as a useless stammering of "B-but... b-but I..."

The cheers of one of the tables helped him get out of his stunned stillness. He took the magical artifact off his head, gave it a reproachful look and pout, and made his way to the students wearing red and gold. The warm greeting he received there made him temporarily forget about all that Hufflepuff affair. He shook Percy's hand vigorously, grinned at the twins and their chant, and sat in front of Neville.

Hermione looked at him from a couple of seats away. "So you are Harry Potter," she stated with an eager expression. "I know all about you, of course. I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

"Do they say why my scar is lightning-bolt shaped?" he asked Hermione, stopping her in her tracks.

She hesitated for a moment before shaking her head and Harry continued.

"Couldn't it have been… I don't know… yin-yang shaped, or… pi-shaped, maybe?"

The Weasley twins looked grim.

"I wouldn't complain about that if I were you…"

"You should be grateful you didn't end up with a–"

"Heart-shaped scar!"

Harry thought about Dumbledore's fancy interpretation of the prophecy and the supposed 'power of love', and grinned wildly.

"Ripcage!" Professor McGonagall shouted, and the room fell into a shocked silence. The half-goblin advanced slowly and uncertainly towards the hat, his yellow eyes fixed on his feet, his hair long and sickly green. From all around the hall, wild whispering broke out, even more so than there was during Harry's sorting. The dark-haired boy frowned a little as he heard some unpleasant comments from his fellow Gryffindors. He continued to look at Rip who continued to look at the ground until he put the Hat on his head, almost disappearing from sight. The whispering stopped there, only to start again, and then double when the sorting went on and on for almost a minute. But then the Hat's shout cut through the buzzing like a blade of sunlight in a dark room.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Seeing as his table didn't seem intentioned or maybe lucid enough to clap, Harry decided to be the first one to start. As the half-goblin took off the magical artifact from his head, revealing short blonde hair, Harry stood up and cupped his hands to the sides of his mouth.

"WAY TO GO, RIP!" he yelled, beginning to clap loudly, hesitantly mirrored by the rest of the table. If he had looked up at where the teachers sat, he would have seen Albus Dumbledore beaming down at the scene.

Ripcage gave them a quivering smile and plopped down on the seat next to Harry, trying to ignore all the stares he was receiving. He failed miserably judging by his purple hair and eyes, but he at least tried.

Harry patted his shoulder.

"The worst has passed."

The half-goblin took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I really hope so."

They cheered as first Dean and then Ron were sorted into Gryffindor, and then fell silent when Albus Dumbledore stood up from the Head table. However, before the old man could say anything, Harry whispered loudly enough to be heard at his table... "Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment and Tweak."

Everyone turned around for a moment to look at him curiously, but then brought their eyes back on the Headmaster.

"Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts!" he said cheerily, his arms opened wide. "Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Babbler! Oddment! Tweak!"

While every other table answered with happy "Thank you!", the red and gold one just stared at Harry Potter.

"Babbler, dammit!" the boy complained for his mistake. "And I was so sure..."

"How did you know?" Neville asked from right in front of him.

"Know what?"

"That he would have said those words?" Ron followed.

"What words?"

Ron, Ripcage and Neville just groaned.

"Nitwit, Babbler, Oddment and Tweak!" Hermione half-shouted with her high-pitched voice from further down the table.

"What?" Harry asked with a skeptic expression on his face. He then looked around before nudging Ripcage to his left. "Do you understand her?"

Ron, Ripcage and Neville just started eating.

"You said 'Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment and Tweak,' right before the Headmaster did," Percy countered with his eyebrows furrowed. The Gryffindors started filling their plates without getting their eyes off the scene. Sir Nicholas hovered near.

"What? Me?" His faked-confused expression would have deserved an Academy Award. "What's this? The traditional prank on the first years?"

"No!" Hermione yelled, blushing at the attention she was getting. She turned towards the apparently not interested boys near Harry. "Why don't you say anything?"

Ron, Ripcage and Neville just sighed. Seeing as an answer of some kind was expected from them, they paused eating long enough to say respectively "No use", "Time wasted", and "Leave it be, Hermione."

The bushy haired girl blushed even more, but let the matter drop. Percy seemed to want to say something else, but in the end kept quiet.

Harry just stabbed a sausage and bit on it as one of the twins leaned towards Ron and whispered from the corner of his mouth. "Is he insane?"

The insane boy in question grinned behind his fork. "I heard you."

The twin shrugged with a grin of his own. "Well, are you?"

Harry shared a look with his new-old friends. "Apparently I am, both by human and by goblin perspectives."

"Well, every Gryffindor is, at least a little. I guess Mr. Potter here is more so than others," Sir Nicholas said, floating over the food. He then added with a grin, "But you proved to be very brave as well, during the chase."

"What chase?" Katie Bell asked curiously a couple of seats away, and Sir Nicholas turned his translucent head towards her. Very slowly.

"What chase?" he asked softly before roaring. "_The_ Chase!"

The ghost laughed merrily and recounted in high tones the 'battle of flesh and shadow' that took place in the Great Hall's antechamber, arriving to the point of giving a visual demonstration of some of its phases amidst the Gryffindors' laughter. Soon enough, the Fat Friar hovered near to start boasting about his own exploits. At some point during that, Seamus and Ripcage turned to each other and grinned two identical idiotic grins, but they wouldn't say what they were about. Coincidentally, the Fat Friar started hovering casually back to the Hufflepuff table.

"Hey Ron, why don't you feed Scabbers?" Harry asked after a while as the topic was finally dying down.

The second phase of the plan 'Sirius Black out of Azkaban' had started.

"Yeah," the red-head answered. "He always eats like a whale."

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out from it what looked like a pink furry ball with insect-like limbs. He held it in front of his frowning face. "Maybe we should change him back to normal."

Harry was about to answer when Percy glanced up from his plate, looking in their direction, and let out a high-pitched yelp that resonated throughout the hall. "What did you do to Scabbers?"

The twins, attracted by their brother's not-so-manly scream, and ready to tease him for it, took a look at what supposedly was their brothers' rat and burst into loud laughter. In the meantime, Percy had snatched his old pet from Ron's hands and had started waving his wand to counter the spells on him. He progressively calmed down as the little jinxes disappeared from Wormtail, only to then frown when he tried to reverse Scabbers to his original color and failed. He tried again. And again. Then used a more advanced counter spell. And then another. But it was of no use.

Ron was watching his brother's now frantic attempts with a half-amused, half-worried expression. He hadn't really had the time to grow fond of the rat, but he felt a little guilty about the situation nonetheless.

Harry just focused on not grinning, but couldn't help the gleam in his eyes as the Gryffindor Prefect, not knowing what else to do, finally tried an advanced detection charm.

Wormtail glimmered yellow, grey, and blue.

Percy frowned for an instant, and then realization descended upon his eyes which in answer widened in shock.

"An animagus?" he whispered, incredulous, but very few at the table heard him.

"An animagus?" Harry Potter asked much more loudly, attracting a lot of attention.

The red-head tried the spell again, certain that he had mistaken something, somehow. Not at all, instead. The rat continued to glow yellow, indicating the presence of a jinx, grey, indicating the presence of magic to stop a counter-spell, and blue, indicating the presence of an animagus.

When even the third attempt produced the same results, Percy continued to stare at his old rat with a horrified expression on his face. He stood up.

"What?"

"What is it, Perce?"

"What's with Scabbers?"

"I..." he stammered, before visibly steeling himself."I have to go and speak to the Headmaster."

He walked away briskly, leaving three stunned brothers and a gleeful first year Gryffindor behind. They watched him reach the Head table and lean slightly towards Dumbledore, shaking the rat in his hand and whispering in hushed tones. The Headmaster showed surprise for a moment before he drew his own wand out, took Scabbers from the Prefect, and cast a detection charm on him. After seeing the result he told Percy something, and then stood up, immediately mirrored by his Deputy Headmistress. His blue eyes wandered for an instant through the Great Hall and, unsurprisingly enough, stopped themselves on a serious-looking Harry Potter. The dark-haired boy met the old man's gaze for just a moment, and nodded almost imperceptibly before returning to his food. It was up to the Headmaster to interpret that gesture however he wanted.

"Ron, follow me." Percy was standing behind his seated little brother now.

"What? Where?" he asked warily, probably thinking he had done something wrong.

"Just follow me." Percy's nasal voice didn't leave room for any argument.

The youngest Weasley complied hesitantly, not much heartened by Harry's encouraging smile. Everyone in the Great Hall watched as the two red-heads, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Dumbledore exited the room at a quick pace.

Harry Potter grinned wildly as the last thing he saw before they disappeared was a familiar red spell flying from the Headmaster's wand to the pink form of Scabbers.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The next morning, Ron Weasley was a real mess. He had come back sometimes during the night and dropped exhausted on the only empty bed of the first year male dorm. His face was haggard, his hair sticking each in its own direction, his eyes sunken over a pair of dark bags. He wouldn't – and according to Harry, couldn't – talk about what had happened, no matter how much the twins pried. Percy wasn't any less tight-lipped. Fred and George tried to get Harry's help, but the boy just tossed them a smirk that left them wondering if the boy _did_ already know the whole story.

Unlike his red-head friend, Harry moved around with a huge grin on his face, greeted everyone cheerily, and skipped through the corridors of Hogwarts humming to himself. The first year Gryffindors followed him more sleepily- especially Ron-, but with almost as much enthusiasm. The dark-haired boy led them to the Great Hall through a haze of stairs and hallways without getting lost, not even once, and that impressed them a lot.

When they stepped into the large room, there was silence for a moment, before an incredible amount of whispering started slithering among the students already present for breakfast. For once, the Boy-who-lived shared the status of main topic with both Ripcage and Ron.

"It's Harry Potter!"

"Did you see his scar?"

"Look at him!"

"Did you see how his eyes change color too?"

"What do you think was the matter yesterday?"

"Professor Dumbledore seemed really grim. I thought he would have expelled both Weasleys."

Harry ignored it all but watched his embarrassed friends closely. Rip's hair was now bright red, just like Ron's, and Ron's face and ears were bright red, just like Rip's hair, and Rip's face and ears were bright... err, not red this time... more like brownish.

They made their way towards the Gryffindor table and took a seat. Harry found himself between Neville and Lavender Brown, and started filling his plate with eggs and bacon, after showing Headmaster Dumbledore a large beaming smile, receiving back a somewhat tighter one. But a tight smile couldn't even get near to worry Harry Potter.

"Want some, Lavender? Neville?"

The girl squeaked something affirmative, while the boy simply thanked him.

"I'm sitting next to Harry Potter..." she then said looking at him with huge blue eyes.

"It's just Harry," the boy intercepted smiling.

"Harry..." she repeated with a dreamy voice.

The dark-haired boy just chuckled. He had forgotten how everybody reacted to him during his first days of school.

"S-so..." Neville stammered clearly uncomfortable with the weird situation. "What do you think it will be our first lesson?"

"Charms in three hours," Harry said with certainty.

Neville blinked. He was about to ask the dark-haired boy something else, but Professor McGonagall appeared out of nowhere and silently handed out their course schedules. Everybody checked their own eagerly and did a double take in seeing that the first lesson was indeed Charms three hours later. The first years all turned towards Harry who just placed the scrap of parchment into his pocket without even glancing at it, before starting to eat again. Hermione was about to ask something along the lines of 'How did you know?', but remembered the similar conversation of dinner the previous day and simply knew better.

They talked about Charms and about the tiny Professor who taught it, about their first night in Gryffindor Tower and about their first impressions in general. The twins kept on bothering Ron and Percy, but to no avail. At the same time, a couple of curious Ravenclaw students approached the table and rudely stared at Ripcage who glared back at them with red eyes.

"Maybe you should make an announcement, Rip," Harry suggested with a grin and much to his surprise, the half-goblin seemed thoughtful. "Do you want me to do it for you? We could use that fancy Sonorus charm Hermione read about and–"

"No, no, please no," Ripcage said quickly with frightened eyes.

Harry chuckled. "When one talks about trust, eh?" He drew his new wand from the right holster. "Maybe something subtler." He grabbed an empty plate and tapped it with his wand thoughtfully. "Hmmm... how about something like this?"

He started waving his wand in an intricate pattern and then with a last flick, the shiny white plate turned into a black baseball cap. With another swish from Harry's part, a writing appeared on the hat's front. It read: 'Metamorphmagus Half-Goblin Here – Stay Away If You Like Having a Head'.

Harry showed it to a stunned table with a proud expression. "Hmmm? What do you say?"

"If you call that 'subtler'…" Neville murmured.

"Give me that!" Ripcage growled snatching the cap out of the boy's hands. He glowered at Harry for another second before eyeing the cap clutched in his hands seriously. He failed to hide the grin that was starting to appear on his goblinish face. "It's not that bad," he then admitted. He tried it on after shortening his black hair and turned almost expectantly towards the other Gryffindors.

Ron grinned for the first time that morning. "You look good with those big ears sticking out of it," he said and the table nodded politely. They didn't know what to do or say around Ripcage, yet. Most of them had already guessed _what_ he was, while others had actually asked him about it, but there still was that lingering uncertainty often caused by what's different.

Ripcage scratched at the back of his head, a little embarrassed.

"Maybe change the last part of the writing?" Hermione offered hesitantly.

Harry seemed thoughtful. "Yeah, maybe you're right. That's a little too harsh," he said and the girl smiled, relieved. He then swished his wand towards the cap still on Ripcage's head and nodded approvingly. "That should do."

The students at the table looked at it and groaned all at once, making him frown in confusion.

"What? What's wrong?"

Everybody shook their heads.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The first year Gryffindors entered the classroom right as the bell rang. They took their seats, speaking excitedly to each other and waiting for the Professor to arrive. Harry was seated next to Ron and Ripcage, who was sporting the new approved version of his cap. Harry could not look at it without pouting. His last modification, "Metamorphmagus Half-Goblin Here – Stay Away If You Like Having Arms" had been gently but firmly put out.

"You can't go around threatening to sever people's arms," they had said, "and that's not really much less harsh than threatening to behead them."

Harry had tried to convince them otherwise but his arguments of "Whoever talked about severing?" and "With a little practice, legs can do almost everything arms can," had been of no use. Not even Ripcage's complaints that he preferred Harry's versions helped in the matter. In the end, Hermione, backed up by Percy, chose the _pathetic _version Rip was currently wearing.

Harry turned away from it when the office-door behind the teacher's desk opened and Filius Flitwick stepped out. The man was really tiny, roughly as tall as Ripcage who among the first years was the shortest. His beard could have given Dumbledore's a run for its money for what concerned its color – a shiny silvery white almost blinding when a light fell upon it – though his was thick more than long. His dark blue shirt and trousers hung a little loosely on his body, making him appear even tinier and furthermore concealing the athletic body Harry knew the man sill had.

The Charm Master climbed gracefully on top of a pile of thick books behind his desk and regarded his class with warm smile and eyes.

"Good morning, young Gryffindors. This is your very first magical lesson at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm sure you all feel excited," he said with his squeaky voice, and it seemed that he was the most excited one. "Let's start by calling the roll so I can learn some of your names. Age is getting to me and my memory is not what it used to be anymore."

He gave the students a smirk as he drew his wand and pointed it at the office behind him.

"_Accio_ roll-call!"

Soon enough, a roll of parchment flew out of the little room and into his outstretched hand, eliciting excited gasps and murmured "oooh"s.

"Isn't that the charm you used to find Trevor on the train, Harry?" Neville asked in a low voice, turning slightly towards him. The dark-haired boy just nodded, wondering if it was only his impression, or if Neville really was less shy in this new life than in the previous, asking this many questions and in general speaking way more. He banished the thought out of his mind as Professor Flitwick, having picked out Neville's words, fixed a tiny pair of bright eyes on him. The dark-haired boy just smiled, wondering if it was only his impression, or if Neville was really just as clumsy and foolish as in his previous life, asking this many questions and in general speaking way more.

The Charm Master, however, didn't comment on that, and instead started calling the roll. When he got to Harry's name, after a little inconvenience involving Neville and a knocked over ink bottle, the tiny man grinned at him.

"Ah. Mr. Potter, of course. It's nice to meet you again after _that _day. I hope the rest of your summer went on in a less... _exciting_ way."

"Actually, that was an ordinary day in that chaos that is my life, but I like it that way," Harry answered with a grin of his own. "But call me Harry, sir. Mr. Potter does not suit me at all."

Professor Flitwick chuckled. "Of course, of course." He lowered his eyes on the roll again and called the next name. "Ripcage."

The half-goblin nervously raised his long-fingered hand, fidgeting on his seat as if it was scorching hot, and his hair and eyes turned to a pale yellow colour. Flitwick's smile was still on his face, but it wavered a little as the man read aloud the writing on Rip's cap. "'Metamorphmagus Half-Goblin Here – Miscreants Beware.'" He chuckled. "Catchy."

Harry just made a gagging sound and Hermione tossed him a smirking look.

"Mr. Ripcage, we'll have to talk about your abilities later on," the Charm Master said ignoring that childish behavior. Rip's eyes went wide.

After the roll call and a nice chat about Hogwarts and their first night there, they started to talk about the actual lessons. Harry was very excited about it. Not only Flitwick was a great teacher and an incredible duelist, but Charms was definitely his favorite subject. How couldn't it be? The spells that fell in that category were interesting, useful and, on top of that, responsible of his survival in the final battle against Voldemort. How could you not love them when that's the case?

"Charms is certainly the most useful course at Hogwarts," Professor Flitwick said echoing Harry's thoughts. "And I'm not saying that because it's what I teach, but because it's true. Ask the other teachers if you want." The tiny man grinned. "And do you know why?"

His question was a rhetorical one but Harry raised his hand nonetheless and the old man gestured for him to speak after a moment of hesitation.

"It's because charms are the most various and practically useable spells," the dark-haired boy said. "And because they're what make transfigurations and curses more efficient."

"That's right!" Flitwick agreed excitedly. "Care to elaborate, Harry?"

"Sure." The boy nodded grinning. "Charms are so many it's actually impossible to know every one of them. They take life from people's needs, and people's needs are far too many to count. Need to clean something? _Scourgify_!" He drew his new wand and cast the spell on the ink spots staining the ground and Neville's hands and cheeks, making them disappear. "Need to repair something? _Reparo_!" The broken ink bottle lying on Neville's desk pieced itself together. Harry grinned at the stunned wide-eyed boy and placed his wand into his right holster again, noticing that Professor Flitwick was almost in tears. "Want your transfigured dog to attack your opponent? A Compulsion charm will make the trick. Want that pesky, dodgy Death Eater to stay still for a moment, just enough to let you Stun him? Conjure a gallon of oil and spray it at his feet. See how he'll fare dodging then."

Harry fortunately didn't give a demonstration of the last two cases. He didn't want to set a rabid dog on anyone in the room, and he was short of Death Eaters to use at the moment. Maybe during Potions...

"Anyway... curses and transfigurations are fun and all. But charms are what make it better."

The class was completely shocked into silence by the time he finished. Their wide eyes and opened mouths told him they were impressed. Plus, Hermione was staring at him, licking her lips all the while, as if she wanted to swallow him whole, together with everything he knew.

Harry brought his gaze back on Flitwick and found him with his head ducked down, his hands clenched into tight fists, trembling all over and emitting little noises like a boiler about to explode.

And that's exactly what he did two seconds later with his squeaky high-pitched voice.

"ONE HUNDRED POINTS TO GRYFFINDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOR!"

In Hagrid's hut, Fang's ears stood at attention.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Draw your wands and repeat exactly what I just did," Minerva McGonagall said to her youngest Gryffindors, starting to walk slowly between their desks for the second part of her first afternoon lesson.

Every student complied and she nodded approvingly. It was a promising class. Ms. Granger had already earned her House twenty points during this lesson, and she heard from her colleagues that the girl had done very well during the morning too. There was another Weasley – Merlin saved her – but he seemed definitely calmer than those two nightmares that went by the interchangeable names of Fred and George. Mr. Longbottom seemed very shy and nervous, but her heart couldn't help but soften a little in seeing Alice's and Frank's son.

And then there was him, of course.

Harry James Potter.

She didn't know what to think, really. The day before, she had been a step away from punish him for all that ruckus in the Great Hall's antechamber. On his very first day of school! It would have been a record probably. Now she was doubly glad she didn't assign him detention, considering the recent events involving one Peter Pettigrew found alive and- according to Albus' latest news- guilty of betraying the Potters in that fateful night. Then, there was what the other teachers had told her about him during lunch, especially Filius who was swearing left and right that the boy was a real genius with immense talent in Charms, more so than his mother had been, and that he had given him and Gryffindor House more than one hundred points in a single lesson. Add to it what had happened that day of June with Quirinus Quirrell, and the result was that she was extremely excited to see how he fared in her lessons.

She turned towards him and watched as he tried to turn the match into a needle in the exercise she always assigned to the first years the first lesson of school. She frowned. His wand movements were completely incorrect, not at all fluid, graceless. There would be no way to succeed in the transfiguration like that.

She... she felt disappointed. She had expected better from James Potter's son. Still, it was the first lesson, there was no need to be hasty and overreact about it.

She turned around towards the rest of the class. Mr. Longbottom was almost as bad as Mr. Potter, but he was making too much of an effort. He was biting on his lower lip and craning his neck in a too rigid fashion, sweating profusely all the while. But Transfiguration is the Art of Grace. Force has very little to do with it. She glanced at the other students and found them decent, mostly. Not surprisingly, Ms. Granger was doing the best of all, very careful and precise in her waving. It wouldn't take her long to succeed.

She looked at Mr. Potter again, with the intention of giving him some pointers, but her eyes widened in shock when she did.

There was a needle on his desk. It seemed perfect. Pointed, silver, eyelet included, the real thing.

"Mr. Potter, you managed the transfiguration," she said drawing everyone's attention with her almost disbelieving voice.

"Yes, Professor, but it's Harry, please," the boy replied with a concentrated expression continuing to wave his wand with jerky, clumsy movements to turn the next match.

She took the needle in her hand and checked it thoroughly. "A perfect transfiguration, Mr. Potter," she added ignoring the boy's request in address. "Twenty points to Gryffindor for having succeeded in this little time."

She wanted to ask him how had he done that, using such incorrect wand movements, but she refrained, thinking it wasn't the best thing to ask in front of the entire class. She bit her lower lip, instead, turning again to the other students and putting the matter aside as a stroke of luck. A very strong one. She glanced at the dark-haired boy once more before approaching Mr. Longbottom to help him with his match.

When Alice's and Frank's son seemed a little less imprecise, though much more nervous, she walked towards Mr. Potter again, only to stiffen in surprise when she saw what laid on his desk.

Three more perfect needles.

The dark-haired boy was still waving his wand around clumsily, swishing it with as much fluidity as a newbie's golem could. She watched him transfixed for another second before narrowing her eyes.

"Mr. Potter, how did you manage to turn three more matches into needles?" she asked with a stern voice. She could have sworn Mr. Weasley and Mr. Thomas next to him were hiding grins.

"Oh?" the dark-haired boy asked looking up at her and away from the match he was trying to transform next. "I just followed your instructions, Professor. And please, call me Harry. Mr. Potter does not suit me at all."

"_Mr. Potter_," she said forcefully through gritted teeth, ignoring the boy's reprimanding "Harry," as he resumed his graceless attempts again, "please then, continue with your efforts and don't mind me standing here and _watching_ you."

She thought she saw the flash of a smile on his face before it was wiped off by a concentrated expression again. The boy kept on jerking his wand left and right, not breaking eye-contact with the match on the desk. Ten seconds had probably passed by when an excited cry resonated from behind her, and she instinctively turned around to find out what was that about.

A beaming Ms. Granger was holding in her hand a silver, pointed match in a partially succeeded transfiguration.

Minerva was pleased and was about to tell the girl so, when she heard Mr. Thomas and Mr. Weasley snicker. She spun on her heel immediately, understanding her mistake too late.

There was another perfect needle on Mr. Potter's desk but he was still moving his left hand in those useless, pathetic waves.

She huffed, annoyed, glaring at the boy. She was starting to say something when she finally noticed it.

She looked at the needles, at Mr. Potter's concentrated face – faked, now she was sure – and then at the wand holster on his right arm and at his jerky wand in his left hand.

She narrowed her eyes

"Mr. Potter," she hissed, "aren't you right handed?"

"Oh?" the boy said, his expression turning confused and then shocked in realization. "Oh! How careless of me! Yes of course, Professor. Thank you for pointing that out."

He switched hand and waved his wand in a perfect, graceful movement with a last flick in the end. The match turned into a needle immediately. "I did it!" he shouted excitedly and his fellow Gryffindors laughed, shaking their heads.

Minerva's eyes narrowed furthermore.

"Again," she said with a stern voice, her hands behind her back.

The boy complied and a new needle added up to the others. She nodded approvingly. "Switch hand again, Mr. Potter."

He fixed his eyes on hers for a moment before nodding back.

She turned around quickly and reached Ms Granger. She checked the girl's attempt carefully before smiling a little.

"Ten points, Ms. Granger, for your partial transfiguration," she said as she reached her desk. "Ah, and Mr. Potter?" she added with her back to the class. "Detention the day after tomorrow at seven in this classroom. Don't be late."

The boy replied swiftly and she could hear the grin in his voice. "Yes, Professor."

Minerva McGonagall grinned as well, pleased that nobody could see that.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The fourth of September, when the first year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Albus Dumbledore was already standing in front of the teacher's desk. It wasn't a surprise. Not at all. Hogwarts had been buzzing with that news from the second day of school.

Albus Percival Whatever Dumbledore was teaching Defence.

At least for now. The Headmaster had pointed out numerous times during his lessons that it was just a temporary decision. As soon as a new adequate applicant offered for the job, the position would pass to him. Then again, considering how much sought-after the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was, the students suspected that Dumbledore would probably end up stuck teaching it for the whole year.

Still, the classroom was pretty much bare, very little personalized unlike Harry was used to see, as if the Headmaster wanted to make clear the point that he was to be there only temporary.

The Supreme Mugwump smiled as his new students paraded in front of him and into their seats with wide eyes and excited voices. He wore a bright purple robe and hat with greenish little... _somethings_ flying left and right on them. He had probably slept very few hours in the past three nights, but his face was bright as always. Harry, however, couldn't get tired of saying that his long white beard and hair were an unfair advantage in masking his immediate appearances and reactions.

The dark-haired boy sat down near Ron and Hermione, at the edge of Gryffindor's portion of class. The day had gone very well till that moment, with some nice Charms and Herbology double lessons, and later in the evening, Harry could look forward to a detention with Professor McGonagall that he was sure would prove highly entertaining.

All the whispering and staring was finally lessening for both Harry and Ripcage – also thanks to the half-goblin's cap – and Ron was already enjoying Hogwarts' indifference.

The red-head had been very uncomfortable with all the attention he received mixed with the difficult situation he found himself into regarding Harry's parents and their traitor. There was a lingering tension from his part when talking to the dark-haired boy, a tension that said boy didn't miss.

There still wasn't any news about Sirius on the Daily Prophet, but Harry wasn't worried in the slightest. He had, in fact, _legilimenced_ his Transfiguration Professor- inadvertently of course- and found out that his Godfather was out of prison already, and under medical attention at St. Mungo's. In the meantime, his old dark cell in Azkaban had been let to one Peter Pettigrew.

According to Minerva McGonagall, Minister Fudge didn't know what to do. What he _did_ know was that a decision was to be reached shortly, before the inevitable leaking of news happened, and the Wizarding World discovered the truth from the wrong source – the press. To reveal it or not to reveal it? That was the question. And if not, how to cover everything up? By bribing all the involved people into silence? Maybe, but that could cost a lot.

Poor Minerva was worried about him, about how this big mess could mess furthermore with his already messy brain. Aw, sweetheart...

He grinned like an idiot as he waited for all those Hufflepuffs that had followed his lead to the classroom to take their seats. Dumbledore's smile was making them fidgeting as if he was glaring at them. And they still hadn't experienced what those twinkling eyes of his felt like on you!

"Why is he wearing that thing?" Ron whispered nodding towards the old man. "Watching that purple robe is worse than getting a punch in the eye."

"That's exactly it," Harry answered smirking. "It's another defence against the dark arts."

Ron chuckled and Hermione snorted despite herself. She tried to glare at the disrespectful boy anyway.

"More like a crime against humanity," Ron whispered back right before Dumbledore started talking.

"Welcome to your very first lesson in Defence Against the Dark Arts. As you should have understood by now and probably knew already, I am Professor Dumbledore and I'm teaching the class until a capable substitute will make himself available." He smiled. "We should all thank Mr. Potter for that, I think."

Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs alike turned towards said boy to find him grinning. Dumbledore blinked at him a couple of times.

"Why the pillow, Mr. Potter?" he asked gesturing at the soft-looking cushion Harry had brought in class and laid on his desk.

"History of Magic is next," he replied nonchalantly and Dumbledore and the Hufflepuffs chuckled a little, while the Gryffindors knew already and just shook their heads. "And it's Harry, sir."

"Ah yes, of course." The old man nodded agreeably with an amused smile.

After the roll call, Dumbledore gave them an introductory lecture about the Dark Arts and his so called "first line of defence" – love. Harry had rolled his eyes at that, smiling at the Headmaster like you do to an old barmy man. The next hour was spent discussing what the dark arts were, what made them dark, and why were they forbidden and punishable by law. To Harry, it seemed like a decent lesson, mostly, if a little simplistic in the outlining of its most complex concepts, but that was to be expected when talking about "good" and "bad" to a bunch of children. Dumbledore, however, often put in some amusing stories from his long, full life to give an example or to make a point, and all the first years were soon laughing, joking around, and in general going through the lesson in a more active way.

"So you see, that was how old Ferguson learned that not everything that looks dark really is, and that is not a good thing to mix skimmed-milk and a perfectly working Swelling solution," he finished lightly and the class laughed.

"Poor Ferguson, he didn't know what hit him," Dean said chuckling.

"Oh no, Mr. Thomas, I assure you," Dumbledore replied mischievously. "He did know very well what hit him."

The Headmaster was about to resume his speech when a long thrill resonated into the room, and a ball of fire blazed behind his back. The old man sighed without even turning around.

"Dear students, may I introduce Fawkes, my disobedient Familiar and friend?" he said in a resigned tone. He watched as the Phoenix flew about the class before hovering over the head of one single student.

"Hey there, Fawkes, long time no see!" Harry Potter greeted the crimson bird, extending his left arm to let him rest on it. Hermione jumped back as if afraid the Phoenix would attack her, but the magical creature just landed on the offered perch with another happy thrill. Hermione's mouth became perfectly 'O' shaped.

Harry noticed how the magnificent bird was staring at him like last time, and he sure couldn't ignore that both his wands in their holsters were growing warmer by the second. He tried to pay no attention to his pleasantly heating forearms, and instead, shot the Headmaster a sour look.

"Do you always starve him, Professor?" he asked producing a lemon drop from his right pocket.

Dumbledore answered while eyeing the wrapped candy and licking his lips. "I assure you, Harry, Fawkes often takes more than his fare share of lemon drops leaving me without, like I currently am." He thought the hint was pretty strong, but with the weird boy you could never know.

Sure enough, Harry Potter seemed to ignore the Headmaster's not so veiled request in favour of playing with the Phoenix. His fellow students looked on in baffled amusement as the boy kept the unwrapped candy out of Fawkes' reach, forcing the bird to try and take it by leaning towards it. He was starting to dangle dangerously at the edge of Harry's arm, when the boy finally gave in, and let Fawkes have his earned sweet. The following delighted thrill made someone chuckle.

"May we pet him?" Hannah Abbott asked Harry, backed up by a blushing Susan Bones.

The dark-haired boy smirked at Dumbledore. "I think you should ask the Headmaster."

The old man just rolled his pale blue eyes before gesturing that, yes, they could. Half of the girls practically jumped out of their seats, Hermione, more hesitantly a couple of steps behind.

Dumbledore sighed again.

There. The lesson had obviously ended. Forty-five minutes wasted. Oh, he had warned Fawkes, threatened him not to come. "You'll see the boy another time," he had told his Familiar. "If you really have to, then make your appearance five minutes before the ending bell. Five minutes surely are enough for you…"

Forty-five minutes, instead. Forty-five. 45. Forty-freaking-five. And nobody was even calculating him anymore. And he didn't even get a lemon drop, dammit!

Albus Dumbledore started glaring at the Phoenix happily basking in all the attention, thrilling a joyous song all the while. He then plastered a fake, grandfatherly smile on his face.

"Perfect timing anyways, Fawkes. We were just about to start the practical portion of the lesson," he stated in a sweet voice.

A pair of wary bird-like eyes fixed on him in between all that caressing hands, and the Headmaster's smile started assuming the connotations of a wolfish grin.

"We could really use a moving target."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Double Potions with the Slytherins had always been a dangerous affair for one Harry Potter. Snape's biased behavior and absolute loathing towards him made sure that he always went out of the classroom in the dungeons on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Malfoy and his cronies were a reliable support in providing that, and Harry's growing hate for the subject had certainly helped in the matter.

Though, things had started going better at some point during his first life, point coinciding with what the Wizarding World had defined at the time as "Harry Potter's Snapping". After that, he had started to care less and less about what Snape and his students did or said, and in the end, he found out they didn't affect him anymore.

It was with this same state of carelessness then, that Harry Potter was enjoying the Potion lesson despite Snape's acid comments and the Slytherins' sniggering.

"Ah, yes," Snivellus said softly, looking over the roll of parchment in his hands. "Harry Potter, our new… celebrity."

Harry just yawned behind his hand while some Gryffindors looked at each other, a little put out by the sneering and ice-cold voice the Potion Professor had used when calling their housemate's name. Harry continued to feign boredom, while inwardly, he was bursting with anticipation because of the plan about to start.

Though rather annoyed by the apparent lack of concern or even interest from the brat's part, Severus Snape continued reading the roll with his usual expressionless face. Once finished, he looked up at the class again and started his usual introductive speech, the one he had created after countless of sleepless nights and meal-less days. Hmmm… Maybe it was because of all that lack of rest and food that it hadn't come out as derisive as he had wanted.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stop death, if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Severus Snape was pleased to notice that there was complete silence in the classroom at the end of his speech, and every student was looking at him with wide-eyes. Well… when they weren't looking somewhere behind his shoulder. Someone coughed softly from the back of the class and another one from the right, and the Potion Master had the awful impression that those coughs were covering the pesky things people called chuckles.

He frowned slightly and some more not-quite-like-cough sounds resonated through the classroom.

He glared at Ms. Greengrass who sat in the front and had the typical expressionless face Slytherins used to hide amusement. He growled at that, and seeing that many students were glancing over his shoulder again, he spun on his heel, ready to unleash his wrath on whomever or whatever was there.

His eyes scanned the room for a second as the students began sniggering more openly now, and after a moment of puzzlement, he finally noticed what was wrong. A writing had appeared on the blackboard of the class, and he started reading it in his mind.

_You are here to watch me fail to teach the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here__, for I'm not capable of doing it, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the dangers of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes that make your hair greasy, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins giving your skin a pale, cadaveric color, bewitching the brewers' mind, ensnaring their common senses. I can teach you how to battle fame, throw glory away, even stop death in its tracks with just ugliness, if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I am._

Severus Snape stared at the writing open mouthed for a long second, before his cheeks gained a somewhat pinkish color, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. He turned around like a beast about to pounce, his furious gaze fixed on one student.

"Potter, you are the responsible of this!" the Potion Master exploded, angrier than ever, and the class grew silent.

"Me?" the boy asked completely puzzled, looking around the room. "I thought you had done that, to try and be funny, sir."

Someone giggled softly.

"Look at me!" Snivellus shouted, getting into Harry's face.

An instant later, their eyes met and Snape forced himself into the brat's mind. To say that the image that greeted him left him flabbergasted was the understatement of the century.

A little monkey blinked at him from his seated position as he ate a ripe banana in a peaceful clearing under the moonlight.

Severus Snape blinked twice and staggered back, stunned. He hastily exited the boy's mind and plopped down on the ground, vaguely aware that someone was by his side.

'What the hell?!' summarized perfectly his scampering thoughts.

Harry smirked as he watched Malfoy and Hermione trying to help the dazed Professor.

So Snivellus had been the one in this new life to first experience his _peculiar_ Occlumency Shield. It could only have been him or Dumbledore – considering Voldemort didn't know about their pesky connection, and was still short of a real body with real eyes with which to _legilimence_ someone. Sadly, till that moment the Headmaster had stayed into his own barmy mind and away from his. Pity… it could have been interesting to see his reaction this time around. The Headmaster had, in fact, helped Harry come up with that mental defense during his first life, mostly by acting as the attacking legilimens. When the Headmaster had started waking up chuckling after every attack, they had finally declared the Shield perfect and spent a couple of weeks having a little fun with it.

When the Potion Master passed out on the floor between the panicking students, Harry Potter winked at his wide-eyed and/or amused friends, wondering all the while if Albus Dumbledore would enjoy his Occlumency Shield this time around as well.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

It was the eighth of September, and the first week of school had just passed by. Harry James Potter was sitting on the cool grass near the Black Lake, with a smile on his face as the sunlight fell upon him. Surrounding him, some of his friends were speaking quietly to each other, enjoying the warm morning and the much appreciated pause from lessons.

Students from all years crowded the big lane outside Hogwarts, their happy shouts filling the air along with Fanged Frisbees or balls of every size and shape. In short, happy children and teenagers playing around.

No, it wasn't one of Argus Filch's most annoying nightmares. It was just a Sunday morning.

Harry's second first week of school had gone pretty well, according to him. He had a lot of fun, made a lot of friends, helped a lot of Azkaban prisoners… well, just one, really. Anyway, all in all, he could consider himself satisfied.

Lessons were surprisingly interesting, if a little easy, but Harry found himself eager to get to them, and even to write his essays and do his homeworks. He was praised a lot- and that always felt good-, and he was slowly getting better in using his wand with his left hand – though he only practiced with the most basic spells.

Transfiguration was a little of a challenge in that matter, with all those minimal flicks and changes of grip, but it was the most fun of all. Professor McGonagall assigned him two more detentions after that first one, and the woman was trying to understand the depth of his knowledge and skill without asking or testing him outright.

Snape had been wary of him since that first lesson, but that didn't stop him from taking a lot of points for whatever reason. The Legilimency incident had been filed away as just that – an incident. Nevertheless, Albus Dumbledore had felt almost compelled to enter Harry's mind, and had tried just that on the previous dinner, experiencing something only slightly different than what the Potions Master had. Rumors had him chuckling when he woke up in the Infirmary some minutes later, in front of the concerned staff members.

Hagrid had been more friendly and kind than in Harry's first life, if that was even possible. He had invited him and Rip to have a cup of tea in his hut, and when they went there bringing five more students, he hadn't as much as batted an eyelid. His rock cakes were as hard as the first time around, though. He had eventually found the courage to take Ripcage aside and weep everything about his sympathetic situation of half-giant to the half-goblin. After a little uncertainty from his part, the Metamorphmagus had finally given in and wept into Hagrid's handkerchief as well. The cloth ended up unusable after their talk.

The news Fudge had been afraid of leaking, appeared on Friday- and the Ministry was still in an uproar at the very moment-, when the Daily Prophet reserved its first three pages to one Sirius Black, one Peter Pettigrew and the terrible miscarriage of justice involving them, and four more pages to the umpteenth summary of Harry James Potter's life. Much to the Weasleys' chagrin and outrage, some of the most inventive reporters- cough Skeeter cough- hadn't hesitated in portraying their 'involvement' in an ambiguous way. Harry hastily put out whatever malicious rumor was starting to make its way through the school, reassuring his best mate all the while. He also succeeded in calming down some quite panicked red-heads who were ready to beg him on their knees not to believe what the Daily Prophet was hinting at. If he hadn't already known the truth from his previous life, Mrs. Weasley's honest tears would have easily convinced him of the innocence of her family.

Speaking about Sirius Black, the man had been judged to be in good physical and mental condition and released from St. Mungo's Hospital that same Friday. Coincidentally, Harry had seen a big- though somewhat scrawny-, black grim three times since then, always outside school. The dog had stayed a little distant, watching him with intent eyes, and every time Harry tried to approach him, the big grim had fled into the outer woods of the Forbidden Forest, disappearing from sight.

It was starting to get a little annoying, and the situation required him to take more forceful measure.

"Hey Harry," Ripcage said, interrupting his musings. "There's that weird dog again."

The half-goblin nodded towards the forest over Harry's shoulder, and all the first year Gryffindors present there turned around. The dark-haired boy didn't bother.

"I don't understand," Hermione said as the grim started advancing towards them, before stopping suddenly as if afraid of something, and deciding to just coast them on their right. "Why is he doing that?"

"I think he's trying to find the courage to ask Harry out," Ron said grinning. "Another one of your fans, eh mate? You really hit on anything."

Harry grinned back at his friend before standing up. "Maybe," he said, stretching his arms and legs. He sighed contentedly and then started walking towards the Forbidden Forest, away from them and from the dog as well. "See you at lunch, guys."

"Where are you going?" Parvati asked him but she didn't get an answer.

The others shrugged but watched with furrowed brows as the Boy-who-lived stepped into the forbidden woods. Their brows furrowed even more when ten seconds later, the scrawny grim followed him hesitantly.

"I guess that means Harry made the first move," Seamus chuckled mirrored by the others.

Hermione Granger wasn't amused. "He shouldn't have gone in there! He will end up in trouble with the teachers, and it could be dangerous!"

Everyone turned again to look at the Forbidden Forest, dark and sinister even in the morning sun.

"Yeah, maybe we should call Hagrid…" Rip agreed grinning. "All the deadly creatures living there are in for some serious trouble."

This time even Hermione couldn't refrain from giggling a little at the paradoxical truthfulness of the statement.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Sirius Orion Black was an idiot. Really, he was. Maybe not the biggest or the ugliest – that surely was Snivellus' title – but an idiot nonetheless.

Sirius Orion Black was an idiot. If not, how can you explain the fact that he was running deeper and deeper into darker and darker areas of the Forbidden Forest? Oh, he had already been in it, of course- the appeal of entering the prohibit woods had been far too alluring to resist in his wild past-, but it had always been every one of them, every Marauder, and not even half as deep as he found himself into now!

Sirius Orion Black was an idiot. There was no other explanation.

He jumped over some high bushes, his four legs landing on the soft ground with barely a sound. He circled an old oak, sniffed it, and then pissed on it for good measure. You can never know.

He looked around and among the trees, and saw just that, trees. And more trees. And more trees beyond them. Still, his Godson's scent seemed near, just a little ahead and on the right, so he hastily resumed his run.

He should have called someone upon seeing Harry stepping into the woods. He should have stopped him. He should have sunk his fangs on that skinny ass of his, and dragged him back to Hogwarts!

Sirius Orion Black growled at himself.

He should have talked to him.

The natural path he was now following presented clear signs of Harry's passing. There were a couple of broken twigs and a faint footprint on a slightly muddy part of the ground. He checked them just to be sure they were from his crazy Godson and nodded satisfied.

It was then that he noticed them.

Huge, round marks just two feet away from him. There were a lot of them, far too many to count, and belonging to things big and heavy enough to leave prints on hard, dry soil. He looked around and noticed how they surrounded Harry's path completely, on both sides, in the unmistakable manner of predators. Many, many of them.

Oh no, no, no, no, no, no. No!

He started running wildly, at top speed, his recovering muscles straining and aching uncomfortably after years and years of atrophy during his stay in that blasted place. Wind battered at his dirty muzzle and dangling tongue, and he had to narrow his eyes to keep on seeing something. Soon enough, he started hearing little clicking noises at little distance over the pounding in his chest. Dodging trees after trees, he finally reached the end of his path, sensed something and stopped.

He found himself on a high rock, looking down at a somewhat more spacious area. The trees there, were definitely sparser but much bigger and higher than the ones he had left behind, arriving to the point of almost matching them in height, despite they dipped their roots more than ten feet lower. Sunlight filtered from more places though, giving Sirius a perfect picture of the sight below.

Harry James Potter stood between two immense sequoias, his head held high to look right at him with a pair of green eyes bright with mischief. His legs were a little splayed, his arms hanging to his sides, and each hand held a long, dark brown wand pointing to the ground. His chest was rising and falling regularly in slow, relaxed breaths under his black Hogwarts uniform.

Surrounding him in a uniform circle of blackness were dozens and dozens of spiders, hairy, long-legged, gigantic spiders, swaying around in a deadly dance and advancing ever more slowly towards him.

"There you are Padfoot," the dark-haired boy said to the already stunned dog, stunning him even more. "Right on time."

Harry turned left and right, regarding the approaching Acromantulas with something akin to amusement. He then looked up at the grim again.

"Hope you brought a wand or two, Sirius," he said grinning. "'Cause you will need them to kick some of these hairy asses."

Harry James Potter then winked playfully right as the giant spiders started descending upon him.

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Author's notes – I caught a cold some time ago and took a couple of days from work. I had a lot of time on my hands and decided to use it on this story. The result? A 13 k, gigantic, unreadable chapter that I liked nonetheless.

If while reading this chapter, you were wondering why it made much more sense than the previous ones, the reason is that the former was graciously corrected by Just an Avid Reader and Brackets, whom English and I thank.

I also thank all the reviewers. I corrected those mistakes you pointed out to me and appreciated your opinions.

And last but not least, a "Thank you!" and a "Please don't shred my fic to pieces!" to the infamous DLP forum for adding my story to their renowned Library, though I don't know how long it will last there… I assure the interested DLPers that this story has a plot, dozens of subplots and countless of pointless idiotic scenes ready to be used. All I can say is that a somewhat frantic Voldemort will be in a lot of those scenes, especially after a while. I guess his first and second encounter with Harry scared/scarred him a little… poor Tommy!

Uncle Stojil


	6. Chapter 6  A Dog and His Owner

Warning – English is not my first language and I have no beta right now, so if you see some mistakes let me know what and where they are. If you don't see them, go find a pair of glasses or an English vocabulary or grammar books, because you're either blind or ignorant. Hell, there are probably some mistakes in this warning! Or maybe in this last sentence… or in this one… or in this one… or in this one… I think you got it.

Disclaimer – If by reading this story, you find elements that are similar and/or about something you wrote, then you are either JKR (who owns the Harry Potter Universe by the way) or another fanfiction author who I chose to compliment, criticize or mock somewhere in here. Enjoy.

Chapter 6 – A Dog and His Owner... But Don't Tell Neither!

The circle of Acromantulas collapsed on Harry Potter with surprising speed, pincers clicking in dangerous snaps and legs moving in a frantic scampering. Even as he was starting to get back in human form, Sirius Black knew it was too late. He let out a loud whimper that during the transformation turned into a strangled cry, as he assisted atthe assault against his Godson taking place beneath him.

And then the first line of spiders started flying away in all directions, occasionally hitting the tree branches and then dropping to the ground. Some of them tried to stand up right away only to wobble down immediately, while others simply landed on their backs and no matter how much they trashed their long legs, they couldn't turn over.

Harry had still to move from his spot, but held both wands raised at the ready against the nearest Acromantulas, now a little wary of attacking.

"I gave you a little time. Now get your ass down here, Sirius," he said without looking at him, a grin still on his face. "If you want a little fun, that is."

Sirius closed his mouth shut, pulled out his wand, generously given himby the Ministry, and stumbled down from that terrace of sort, determined to reach his Godson and kick his ass back to Hogwarts. He recklessly jumped the last five feet and landed unbalanced on soft soil and then on his face. When he got up again, spitting mold and leaves everywhere, Harry was expertly dodging a lot of furious spiders, their pincers clicking continuously. The boy almost seemed to dance between the huge creatures, rolling between them, avoiding their various appendages and jumping on roots, firing off banishing charms alternatively with both his wands and turning his opponents upside down.

Sirius ran towards him with wide-eyes, his own wand shaking with anticipation. How many years had passed since he last used it in a fight? He had always been a man of action, in love withthe thrill of battle, with the wild, excited pounding in his chest, and all those years in Azkaban hadn't changed that, apparently.

Sirius Orion Black found himself grinning like a madman.

"_Lacero_!" he shouted, trying not to let his voice quiver in excitement, and the aqua greenlight flew from his wand and towards a big spider charging his Godson. It was about halfway there when, much to his shock, the boy jumped in front of the creature _and_ in front of the severing curse, facing it. "Harry!" he yelled in a high-pitched panicked tone.

"_Protego_!"

Sirius' spell ricocheted against the shield, dispersing around in harmless tiny green rays, and the man exhaled a shuddering breath. Harry continued his movement, spun around and avoided some other snapping pincers aimed at his back. He rolled towards Sirius and when he got up, the man could see that the boy was pouting at him.

"Don't hurt them," he said in a childish voice like a son pleading his father not to kill a butterfly. He then grinned. "I suggestbanishing charms and curses. The trick is to make the spiders land on their backs so they can't get up again."

Sirius Black took a second to process that.

"Why don't we just stun them, then?" he asked as if it was obvious.

At those words, Harry – his _totally_, _thoroughly_ _crazy_ Godson – looked at him as if _he_ was crazy.

"I wouldn't try that if I were you."

With that last piece of advice, the boy ran away again, leaving a baffled Sirius in front of three huge Acromantulas, their numerous eyes fixed on him as they corrected the direction of their attack, clicking pincers pointed at him.

The man fell back a little, and after one last uncertain glance at his Godson, raised his wand against the three spiders. "_Repello_!"

The creatures were launched back by his banishing charm but only one dropped on its back, moving its long legs and pincers uselessly. The other two shook their heads as if to clear them, and then charged together. Sirius was about to cast again, when something hit him from behind, and dragged him to the ground. He rolled over just in time to avoid the two angry Acromantulas who were at it back again, and found himself tangled with another huge spider, its pincers at not more than two inches from his face.

He yelped, continuing to roll and holding on his wand for dear life, trying to free himself with his other hand. He managed to kick the ground and regain his feet, and fled - very manly - away from the approaching creatures.

Harry was at little distance from him, dodging and rolling like crazy, his black uniform stained with soil and mud, his hair messier than ever and with leaves stuck in it. Acromantulas were turned upside down all around him and more were mirroring them as Sirius looked.

The man narrowed his eyes.

He was Sirius Orion Black, dammit! Gryffindor, Marauder, Auror, finalist in 1975 Hogwarts' Duel Competition, Death Eaters' nightmare and women's dream! A couple of overgrown spiders was nothing to him!

"Watch this now, Harry!" he shouted to his Godson, charging himself up.

He turned towards his pursuers and pointed his wand at the tree branches overtheir heads. "_Animo_!"

The huge wooden appendices just trembled a little and for a moment, Sirius feared he had used too little power. He was cursing against the damn Azkaban in his mind and thinking about what to do, when they finally started moving and slowly waving around. He smiled smugly and brought down his wand in a slashing motion, immediately mirrored by three of those thick branches. They crashed downon the group of spiders like huge whips and tossed a couple of them away like some hairy rag dolls. The others retreated a little, but the long branches reached them without problem and sent them rolling towards him. Two stopped on their backs and twitched a little, while the other three tried to stand up again only to collapse at the first attempt.

Sirius shouted defiantly and heard his Godson laugh from behind. He turned around and found him with a feral grin on his face not unlike his own. But unlike the boy, the man's expression changed completely when Harry held up his thumb and pointed to the right.

Sirius blanched, eyes wide and popping. At roughly twenty feet from them, two dozens Acromantulas had assembled, angrily pawing the ground and snapping their pincers. Behind them, a smaller group was working efficiently to push other spiders upright again. The largest group was apparently waiting for their fellows to join them.

"It seems they had a trick of their own," Harry said still pointing and grinning. "I guess we underestimated them a little."

"Maybe a little," Sirius agreed gulping. Now only on this side of the battlefield, there still were creatures lying on their backs, long legs trashing mildly or in some cases, wildly.

"Well, don't worry. Leave them to me. I have the perfect spell," he said seriously. "Let's end this."

Sirius looked at his Godson, at his ruthless expression, and wondered if that meant it would be okay to curse those creatures _properly _now. When the dark-haired boy stepped up, the dog animagus saw immediately how the Acromantulas grew wary, starting to space out to avoid giving the human an easy shot and to eventually circle him. Sirius had really underestimated their intelligence. He wondered what Harry had planned.

His Godson didn't give the spiders the necessary time to fan around and circle them. He instead ran towards the largest group, leg-locked the nearest Acromantula who dropped rigidly to a side, and, avoiding a pair of snapping pincers and hairy bodies, raised his old wand and intoned the curse he had trained on the most with his left hand in the last week.

"_Tarantallegra_!"

Whatever Sirius expected, that was not it.

The pinkish, childish jinx flew towards the creatures scattering around to avoid it, and hit one of the tallest in the back. It took only a split of a second and then its eight legs started jerking wildly out of control. The Acromantula began to run at very high speed - much faster than anyone of those creatures had previously - its legs moving in a frenzy, its pincers snapping furiously in a panicked manner. The giant spider collided against one of its fellows - literally tossing it in the air -, but didn't even stop. It stumbled a little before resuming his wild run, bumping almost constantly, knocking down other Acromantulas, or charging little groups of them, launching them against the tree branches over their heads. Some of the other spiders tried and put a stop to it, but with little to no result.

Sirius could only look on in astonishment from the other side of the battlefield as the rough Acromantula defeated every one of its fellow spiders. He didn't even notice that his Godson was now looking at the scene next to him until he spoke.

"I always wondered why that spell was the Italian for 'Happy Tarantula**'**," he said frowning. "Do they look happy to you?"

"Well…" Sirius started looking around a little. "There is that big one who landed exactly on top of that little one." He pointed at the 'intercoursing' pair. "I think he's enjoying it."

Harry laughed heartily looking at them. Indeed, the one on top was doing some suspicious motions with the lower half of its body. Though it was probably just trying to disentangle its long legs – maybe its _ninth_ too –, but the scene was ambiguous nonetheless. But trust Sirius to think about sex in almost every possible situation. He had just gotten out of Azkaban, sure, and roughly ten years had passed since he last had some sort of intercourse – not considering the St. Mungo's nurses he probably molested in these last days – but he surely couldn't be aroused by two giant spiders mating, right?

Harry turned towards his Godfather and noticed his dreamy look. He could only laugh more.

"Oh God, Sirius…" he said between chuckles. "I missed you."

"Oh?" the man asked shaking his head as if to clear it. "What?"

Harry just smirked at him. "So... how do you feel?"

Sirius was about to answer something along the lines of 'Great!' or 'Never felt better!', but then remembered where he was. And why. And with whom.

"How do Ifeel? How do _I _feel?" he yelled angry. He reached Harry's shoulders and started shaking them repeatedly. "How do _you_ feel! Are you completely insane? Whatever got into your head to make you think entering the Forbidden Forest was a good idea? There's a reason if the word 'Forbidden' is part of its name! It's a dangerous place! You could have been killed! There are worse things than a pack of giant spiders here, like... like... like a lot of things! And you were lucky I followed you and found you in this haze!"

He stopped manhandling the boy but kept his hands on his shoulders, not letting go and leaning a little on them. He was breathless now, and red-faced. It was all Azkaban's fault, that damn place. He was definitely out of shape and, although the Healers at S. Mungo's had told him to do some physic activity, a wild run in the forest and a fight against giant spiders was probably what they would have defined as overwork.

Harry just raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you calm now?"

Sirius took a step back and a deep breath. He then tilted his head to a side, a funny expression on his face. "I am," he said almost surprised.

"Good," the boy continued cheerily, "because your loud voice probably just attracted that 'lot of things worse than a pack of giant spiders' you were talking about."

Harry laughed at his Godfather's panicked expression before turning towards the still scampering Acromantula. The poor thing was visibly tiring and slowing down. Its eight eyes were all fixed furiously on Harry as it ran around in a wild dance, occasionally hitting or stomping on its fellow spiders. With a quick _Finite_ and a _Repello_, the creature was on its back, completely exhausted judging by its still legs. The dark-haired boy quickly cast a wide-area medical charm and checked that no spider was seriously injured. He nodded approvingly.

"Thank you for this enjoyable event. We had fun," Harry said to the Acromantulas, standing in their midst. "Tell Aragog 'Hi!' from me. If any of you want a rematch, just let Hagrid know where and when and I'll do anything possible to be there."

After a minute of shocked silence, the only answer he received was a significantly higher number of snapping sounds.

"Well, that's settled," Harry said once he was in front of his Godfather again. He looked at him up and down before giving his honest opinion. "You look healthier than I remembered, Sirius."

"Remembered?" the man asked bewildered.

"Yes, you looked definitely more like a wreck after you escaped from Azkaban," Harry added nodding his head.

"Escaped?" Sirius' brow furrowed.

"Yes, escaped. Can you stop parroting?" the dark-haired boy huffed, annoyed. "Anyway, I guess S. Mungo's treatment or maybe the two less years of prison are to thank for that."

The Marauder frowned, puzzled. He resisted the urge to 'parrot' again, opting instead to ask a more general and somewhat comprehensive question. "What in Gryffindor's name are you talking about?"

"I couldn't have waited for you to see a bloody photo with Peter in it, so I had to force the hand a little... how did you actually get your hands on that photo the first time around is beyond me, really."

Sirius tried hard to see some kind of sense in what his clearly touched in the head Godson was saying, but the effort seemed to only produce a "Arrgh!" sound in answer, as Sirius groaned taking his head in his hands.

"You're confusing me more than a Dementor!"

Harry put his wands back on their proper holsters under his uniform and started walking back from where he had come.

"Sorry," he said knowing he wasn't sounding it at all. He could feel Sirius' glare on the back of his head and couldn't help but grin. He really shouldn't find amusement in his Godfather's discomfort, but he intended to gain the most entertainment he could in the next hours of revelations.

"Come on. Let's go back to Hogwarts. I have a long story to tell you," he continued, his grin turning mischievous. "And I think you'll find it _very_ funny."

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Harry stepped out of the bushes and into Hogwart's lane with a huge grin on his face. He actually had to bit on his lower lip to refrain from laughing and consequently ruin everything. He ran a hand through his hair, freeing it from leaves, twigs and probably Tlinklits as well, and started pondering on how to proceed from there.

It was most likely meal time, seeing as there seemed to be no one outside the castle at the moment. From the chimney of Hagrid's hut lifted dark wisps of smoke and Fang's hungry barks could be heard despite the distance, sign that his half-giant owner was about to give him lunch. Harry's stomach grumbled, effectively distracting him enough to wipe the grin off his face and school his features in a faked puzzlement. He turned around and faced his stunned Godfather again. But it was hard to remain straight-faced in front of that sight.

Harry's face most probably gave his inner amusement away, because Sirius' until then wide eyes suddenly narrowed and the man stepped out of the woods where he had frozen in horror. He reached his Godson with large steps while sporting an angry frown.

"You're lying!" he snarled. "You're lying! Admit it!"

Harry's puzzled expression could have made the most confused Ron proud. "What?"

"Ah ah, Harry, very funny. I'm about to laugh my ass off... and kick yours over and over," the Marauder growled at him. "Say it isn't true!"

"But Sirius-"

"I can't believe it, I refuse to!" the man said shaking his head repeatedly. "I can believe that you traveled back in time given what I saw and what you told me. That I was killed by Bella, okay, I can believe it," he conceded with a grimace. "It's... _extremely _implausible and unlikely, but with a _lot _of luck on her part, it could have _incredibly _happened." He took a deep breath after which he came up with a very disappointed expression. "But you honestly cannot expect me to believe... I had…" he struggled to utter the words, "an affair… with Moony!"

He shuddered exaggeratedly, making Harry's task to remain straight-faced even harder. Still, the dark-haired boy managed to and answered with a frown. "You were a wreck at the time and Remus was feeling guilty for the whole situation. Both of you were a little desperate and you terribly needed someone to show you some love and comfort."

"I don't think I would find a naked and horny Moony very comforting," Sirius said sarcastically.

Harry shook his head at him as if he couldn't possibly understand. "It wasn't about physical attraction. It was just about need." The boy raised his head and looked at his Godfather with a sad face. "It was beautiful at first, and you were so happy." He averted his eyes. "Then Moony's beasty side started to take control…"

"Argh!" Sirius shouted interrupting him. "You're lying! Now I know you're lying!" He fell back and onto the ground with a relieved expression on his face. "Thank God… thank you benevolent, almighty God…"

Harry pouted. "I overdid it, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did." Sirius sighed in relief again before standing up. "James had the same bad habit as well. He would often ruin a perfect prank by going way over the top."

"I was tempted to say Moody instead of Moony at first," Harry admitted, smirking in seeing his Godfather's horror-stricken face. "_That_ would have been way over the top."

"You're a sick, sick boy," the man said shaking his head. "Or man… or… whatever…"

"Boy is okay," Harry replied with a nod. "Well, Master wouldn't be bad either, but even Kreacher doesn't call me that, and I can't expect _you_ to do that, right? By the way, tell him I sent you when you see him."

"Kreacher?" Sirius repeated. "Is he even still alive?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "You wouldn't believe it considering the stink."

"What?" the dog Animagus asked confused. "What are you talking about? Did you meet Kreacher?"

"Of course. I immediately moved to Grimmauld Place once I traveled back."

"That's why I couldn't enter the house when I tried!" Sirius exclaimed at once, clapping his hands once. "You had warded it! I hadn't given it much thought since I hated the place. And it's full of dark magic anyway... Besides, I was given an apartment in Muggle London by our generous Ministry. But now that I know you live there…" The man stopped for a moment and gave a long look to his obviously crazy godson. "I should stay in my sparkly new apartment?" he half-asked to himself with uncertainty.

"Nonsense," Harry said punching him lightly on the side. "It's the house of the noble and ancient – or better ancientest – Black family, so it's only proper for a Black to live there.

"Ancientest?" Sirius asked skeptically.

"Yes. Plus, I promised Kreacher I would have brought his old Master back."

"Hey, I'm not old," the man objected with a frown. "And I never got along with the little bugger anyway."

"Hmmm…" Harry murmured thinking about it. "What about the painting of your adorable, sweet Mom?"

"Mom!" Sirius said excitedly, a grin slowly spreading through his face. "I had forgotten about her. I should at least pay her a visit… maybe just to piss her off like the good old times!"

"Yes, yes, you should." Harry nodded repeatedly. "But try to be polite when you piss her off, would you? She has really missed her little sonny…"

Sirius snorted before noticing Harry's straight-face. "Did she say that?" he asked in disbelief.

The dark-haired boy shook his head. "No, but I could read it in her eyes and sense it in her loving words."

"Ah," the man said dryly.

"Anyway, take this," the young Gryffindor said, producing a small, crimson pendant from under his uniform. "This will get you inside Grimmauld Place safely. I could use a little hand once you're back in the house."

Sirius took the red object curiously. "With what?"

"Oh, you know, a little side project of mine..." Harry explained dismissingly, starting to walk towards Hogwarts. "We'll talk about it later. I have to go back to the castle now."

"Okay." The man fumbled with the pendant for a long second before looking up at his Godson and stopping him by putting a hand on his shoulder. "I… I'm really grateful for what you did, Harry. And I'm sorry for… for not being there for you in the past. I let Peter trap me like a stupid."

"What bullshit are you spewing? You didn't act stupidly," the dark-haired boy commented while turning around. "It was Wormtail who acted brilliantly."

Now, that was a little bit stunning in Sirius' opinion. "What?"

"Come on, think about it," the young Gryffindor continued with a rational tone. "It goes like this. Pettigrew betrays my parents and rattles everything to Voldemort. He thinks he'll be alright, and with reason. Who in the world thought that the most dangerous Dark Lord of the century could be defeated? So he plans to wait for his Master and get his nice little reward. But, fancy that, Voldemort is vanquished. Still following me?"

Sirius nodded dumbly.

"The moment is chaotic at the very least. While all the stupid Death Eaters are getting out of their holes like panicked rabbits to get themselves caught or killed, he plans his escape. When you find him, he pulls that suicide-trick and successfully frames you as Potters' traitor and Muggles' mass-murderer. He couldn't have come out on top of that mess in any other way in the situation he was in and with the means he had." Harry opened his arms wide at that point. "Admit it, Sirius. In those 24 hours, Peter Pettigrew acted as a fucking genius!"

The dog animagus thought about it for a long second and had to admit despite himself that his crazy Godson's reasoning actually made some kind of sense. "It's an interesting point of view," he eventually said, not ready to admit his real thoughts.

"Of course," the dark-haired boy resumed, "he threw it all away when he stayed in his rat form so long after that, deciding to become Percy Weasley's pet! That was so incredibly stupid that I think his brilliant stunts were just a fluke."

Sirius winced a little at those words, remembering all the times Peter got himself in trouble for something idiotic back in school. "Yeah. He's never been very bright, but had some moments of brilliance. He _was_ a Marauder, after all," he continued with a snort before shaking his head. "I can't believe we're even discussing this, though. You're a strange bloke, oh Godson of mine." Flashing a sudden smile, the man put an affectionate hand on the boy's shoulder. "I like you already, pup."

The words had just left his mouth when he found himself looking down a wand's tip from real close.

He was very impressed – and intimidated. That had been the quickest draw he had ever seen in his whole life. He gulped nervously, Harry's wand firmly pointed at his face.

"What did you just say?" the young Gryffindor almost hissed under his breath.

Another loud gulp followed as Sirius withdrew the hand from the boy's shoulder.

"I-I just said that I like you already," the dog animagus defended himself at once… verbally, of course. His eyes stayed glued to the glowing stick hovering menacingly a couple of inches away from his nose.

"After that."

"What?"

"You called me 'pup' after that, didn't you?" Harry's voice was steely.

Sirius didn't like the situation at all, but there was something he had learned in his past of troublemaker, something that would come in handy once again now, a lesson he wasn't about to forget anytime soon.

When in a dire situation, deny, deny to the death. It was the Marauders' most important law when caught. He was pretty sure the tactic would have saved his ass even from being hauled to Azkaban had the Ministry given him something resembling a trial.

"I didn't, I swear!"

"Hmmm…" his Godson murmured not really convinced. His wand lowered a little all the same.

See? It works perfectly.

"I'm Sirius, I really am!" He really couldn't resist the old joke, but he surely as hell could resist the smile that usually accompanied it. In this situation at least. "I didn't say 'pup' at all. That's it! I burped. It was just a burp! The words do sound alike… no need to react this badly to such a simple mishearing, right?" He laughed nervously. "Right?"

Harry suddenly smiled at that, pulling his wand away. "Of course! I was just kidding. I know you wouldn't call me that." He paused for a moment as he positively beamed up at his Godfather, though the grin looked a bit stretched to Sirius' eyes. "Ever."

The man nodded his head at once, shifting his eyes around awkwardly and laughing a little in relief together with the boy. They patted backs and bid their goodbyes soon after that.

The young Gryffindor resumed walking towards the castle before stopping suddenly. "Oh, right. I almost forgot that. Please Sirius, do not enter your mother's room, okay?"

"Why?" the dog animagus asked, now a little guarded.

"Well... I put some stuff in there and I don't want you to see them," he replied with a small, gentle smile. "It's a surprise, okay?"

As Sirius agreed with a shrug, all Harry could do to hide his wolfish grin was to turn away from him and continue his walk through Hogwarts' lane. Now that the Marauder's curiosity had been picked, it was certain. He _would_ try and enter his mom's room.

And the surprise would bite him in the ass.

"Ah, Sirius," he said under his breath. "That will serve you right for calling me _that_."

There was no one around to hear him laugh manically as he made his way to the castle.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Now," Professor Flitwick said loudly. "Swirl the wand counterclockwise like we tried and say clearly: _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

A chorus of voices followed with various degrees of success the instruction of the tiny man standing on his usual pile of books. Some spelled the incantation wrong, some others didn't move the wand right, and few simply didn't get any kind of reaction from the feather lying on their desks despite getting everything correctly. Only two objects eventually hovered in the air - Professor Flitwick's feather and Harry Potter's desk.

Filius rolled his eyes. "You didn't have to show off so much, Harry. Making the desk hover won't change the ten points I would have given you if you had targeted the feather."

The dark-haired boy snorted. "But I _had_ targeted the feather, sir" he said with a small smile. "I guess I don't have perfect control with my left hand yet."

"Oh." The Charm Professor looked apologetic. "Uhm, sorry. Why don't you try the spell again, then? All of you."

He started walking around the class of both Gryffindor and Slytherin's first years while giving pointers here and there. He tried to keep an eye out as he did that, though... he didn't want anything bad to happen between the two historically clashing Houses.

He couldn't help but grimace a little at that but there was nothing he could do anyway. Some adjustments to the schedule _had _to be made - the Headmaster had so many extracurricular projects and duties that he had to really make an effort to make his Defence against the Dark Arts lessons fit completely - and it surely had happened by chance that Gryffindor and Slytherin had been paired so much as a consequence. But one had to wonder… even flying lessons were soon to be shared by the two Houses!

Flitwick narrowed his eyes at the sniggering young Malfoy when Longbottom's feather caught fire. He sent the blond boy a squeaky warning as he conjured a trickle of water to put out the small flame and then proceeded to correct the Slytherin's incantation as harshly as he could... which he himself had to admit wasn't much.

At the end of the first hour, everyone had managed to perform the Levitation charm bar Ripcage. The half-goblin seemed to be struggling in his lessons, always getting every spell down a bit later than the other students. He also seemed quite down about that despite his friends' encouragements. He made a note to himself to talk to the boy some time after class and assure him there was nothing to worry about.

The rest of the lesson went on without any unusual problem. He had hoped the kids would have paid more attention to his lectures after being allowed to cast the Levitation charm, but at the end of the two hours most of them seemed distracted anyway. At the sound of the bell he sent them on their way with the task of researching the Gravitation charms and of practicing the spell they had learnt.

When the last student finally exited the classroom, Filius rubbed his eyes and tiredly stretched his arms. With a yawn, he jumped down the pile of books and walked to his office, closing the door behind his back. Once sitting at his desk, he reached for the pile of essays the fifth year Hufflepuffs had handed him that morning and started correcting and marking them. He was more or less halfway through them when the door suddenly burst open and a flustered-looking Minerva McGonagall came in.

"Filius, I've finally found you!"

The woman stepped in front of his desk and waved the roll of parchment she held in hand.

"What is it, Minerva?" Filius asked with worry in his voice. "Did something bad happen?"

"What? No, no," the Transfiguration Professor quickly amended. "Sorry, I shouldn't have made such a scene." She smiled apologetically for a moment before going back to an almost stunned expression. She shook the roll again. "But this... this..."

"What is it?" the tiny man asked curiously. An instant later though, he recognized it as a student's essay, and it wasn't difficult for him to put all the pieces together. "Oh, let me guess. Is that one of young Harry's essays?"

Minerva, who was about to say he couldn't possibly guess right, closed her mouth abruptly.

"Yes, it is... how did you know?" she asked eventually.

In answer, Filius opened the drawer on his side of the desk and pulled out two rolls of parchment himself. With a small, amused smile, he passed them to Minerva's outstretched hand.

"May I have yours?" he asked with a chuckle.

The stern woman looked at him with a raised eyebrow before handing him her own roll. She then sat on a nearby chair and started reading what at a first glance looked like a Charms essay.

The silence that descended on the room could only last a couple of seconds.

"Filius!" Minerva started shocked. "But this is... this is..."

"Yeah, I know!" the tiny man said excitedly.

The woman scanned the parchment down quickly and could only shake her head in disbelief.

"He transformed an essay on the principles of Charms in a short novel about a silly man literally stumbling upon them!" he said chuckling. He let the woman keep on reading for a while before speaking up again. "Quite funny, isn't it? And you still have to read the other one!"

"What is it?" the woman asked struggling to peel her eyes off Mister Potter's admittedly amusing novel.

Filius grinned like a madman. "I had assigned the class a research about the possible dangers of using Charms incorrectly or irresponsibly. Care to guess what he came up with?"

Minerva took the other essay in her hands. She gasped.

"He didn't!"

"Oh, he did." Filius nodded, an almost crazed smile playing on his lips. "A whole page of obituaries from a hypothetical daily paper about random people dying because of backfiring charms."

She glanced down to a name that had caught her eyes.

"No!" she shrilled.

"Yes!" he squeaked before chuckling again.

"He killed Albus!" she shouted in outrage. "And-and-and… with a Tempus charm!"

The tiny man's laughter could be heard throughout many of the nearest halls surrounding the classroom, his squeaky voice echoing against the stone walls. That didn't help Minerva's mood at all.

"Filius!" she chided.

"Sorry Minerva," the Charm Professor apologized. "But I already showed it to the Headmaster, and he too doesn't seem displeased at all with Harry's... _atypical_ take on the topic of my essay. Moreover he asked me to give him a copy of it. I think he plans to have it framed..."

The stern woman just shook her head, still incredulous. Almost as an afterthought, she turned the roll around.

"You gave him an O+! But it doesn't even exist!"

"Now it does," Filius said simply. "Now, if you would just let me read yours..."

Minerva shook her head again and then kept quiet as the Charms Professor chuckled his way through the Transfiguration _essay_ Mister Potter had given her.

"This is incredible!" the tiny man said with a huge smile. "I really feel for poor Wooly!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Filius!" the cat Animagus said exasperatedly.

"It must be a real unpleasant experience to be transfigurated back and forth from pebble to cotton," the former duelist reasoned with mock-sorrow before grinning widely. "But seriously, this is genius! Describing the magical process from the pebble's point of view…"

"He certainly has a fervid imagination," Minerva conceded. "I wouldn't call that genius."

"Whatever you want to call it, this still remains one of the most brilliant and original works on magic I've ever read! It ranks up in my list with a couple of Charms dissertations of the 18th century and the magic-revolutionary book _De Magico Mundo_ by Merlin himself." Filius exclaimed excitedly before amending. "And, of course, with Harry's other essays…"

"I'll admit they're enjoyable and entertaining – and on top of that, perfectly correct and detailed from the magical point of view – but still!" The Transfiguration Professor pushed her glasses from the tip of her nose. "They're so… so…"

"Great?"

"Unorthodox," Minerva finished, sending her friend a glare. "I don't even know how to mark them!"

"I swear, Minnie, if you give him a T, I'll-"

"I won't, I won't, don't worry." She rolled her eyes while standing up. "I have to go now. I still have the other Gryffindor's essays unmarked in my office."

She reached out with her hand and waited for the man to finally return the parchment. She then looked hesitantly down at the two rolls on the desk.

"Yes, Minerva? Do you need something?" the Charms Professor asked eventually, way too sweetly for her tastes.

The stern woman found herself grimacing and struggling with her next words.

"May I have a copy of those?"

Filius Flitwick could only grin in triumph at that.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"So I dived down as low as I could and stopped the Quaffle with my left foot," Ron Weasley was saying excitedly. "And thanks to me, we never had to go and get it from the gnome den."

"So you're pretty good on a broom," Dean Thomas asked with interest. He still didn't know very well what this _Quidditch_ was all about, but he was getting excited just by listening to all the talk the first years did about it since the schedule of the broom lessons had appeared in the Common Room.

"Well, you heard about my brother Charlie," the red-head said hesitantly. "I'm nothing like him, of course – he's the best I've ever seen bar some pros - but I'm no slouch either. Flying is in my veins."

"Aren't Fred and George also in the Gryffindor Quidditch team?" Lavender asked.

"Like I said, in my veins," Ron reiterated smugly.

There was a loud snort after those words and the group of Gryffindors turned around only to see Draco Malfoy and some other Slytherins looking at them hostilely.

"In your veins?" the blond boy repeated incredulously. "I bet you wouldn't recognize a broom's handle even if it hit you right on the nose!"

Malfoy's housemates laughed around him and Ron's ears turned red immediately. He made to speak but someone stepped in front of him.

"McLoyd didn't really mean it, Ron," Harry told him calmly. "It's just that the broom hit him on his head rather than his nose when he was a baby. It's not his fault."

The red-head barked out a laugh with the other Gryffindors and it was his turn to watch Malfoy redden slightly.

"My name is Malfoy, Potter!" the blond shouted. "And it's your head that's got more than a few hits! You're completely bonkers!"

"There's bonkers and then there's _bonkers_," Harry said wisely.

"Listen to you!" The Slytherin snorted. "And _look_ at you! Surrounded by this bunch of losers and idiots that follow you like dogs! Not to talk about the actual freak over there…" His face _sneered_ in Ripcage's direction. "A freak and a squib. He practically doesn't have magic!"

"Careful, LeRoy, or he'll levitate your ass over the Giant Squid," the dark-haired boy said as menacingly as possible, although it wasn't easy to come up with good threats when all the spells you could use were first years' ones. "And he's as much freak as both you and I are, in our own personal way."

"I'm nothing like you!" Malfoy protested angrily, either forgetting or giving up in trying to force the other boy to get his name right.

"That's why I said personal way," Harry reminded him before turning around and walking away. "We're all part of a freak show. Don't be mad if you're not the leading event."

He ignored the sputtering behind him and smiled slightly at the Gryffindors walking beside him again, some of them commenting on what had just been said, others just loudly enjoying Malfoy's frustration. Ripcage was quiet, though. Harry had noticed the look on his face when the blond Slytherin had called him names, but decided not to bring the matter up again for the moment.

Surprisingly enough, it was the half-goblin himself that did that, a few hallways before they reached their Common Room.

"Harry," he called him seriously, "may I talk to you for a moment?"

The dark-haired boy turned around inquisitively and nodded. "Sure. Don't wait for us, guys. See you later."

As the rest of the group waved at them before continuing on their way, Ripcage led Harry to a nearby classroom, checking that it was desert before stepping inside. The half-goblin then closed the door and turned to his friend while twisting his brownish hands nervously.

"Teach me…" he started hesitantly. "Teach me how to do magic like you do."

Harry looked at him strangely. "We do it the same way, Rip," he said as if speaking to a slow child.

"No. No, you manage spells much more easily," he protested. "I… I can't…"

"Listen," the dark-haired boy interrupted him as he struggled with the words. "There's no need to fret about it. Magic is different for each person. For some is quicker, for others more powerful, or more understandable. And there are many things that cause that. I knew a woman who couldn't perform a Levitation charm to save her life because she had fear of heights and-"

"But it's not just the Levitation charm for me!" Ripcage retorted hotly, blushing a little. "I struggled with every spell they taught us until now! I… I'm starting to wonder if coming to Hogwarts hasn't been a mistake…"

Harry frowned harshly at those words. "Don't say that. It just means that yours is a general problem and not one specific to a spell. We just have to find it out." He walked to a nearby desk and sat on it. "Let's see what we can do."

During the next hour, the two Gryffindors went over the motions of the Levitation charm, analyzing every step carefully until Ripcage was simply too exhausted to continue. He just lay on the floor and sulked about the unfairness of it all.

"I don't understand," Harry said at that point, looking almost incredulously at the feather stubbornly glued on the desk. "You're doing everything right, now. Even your _feel_ of magic seems right, as much as I can tell from an external point of view. Maybe you've been attacked by the Gushing Guslits Luna told me about. They're said to block in the victim's magic," the boy mused. "Did you experience ticklish knees recently, or maybe an irresistible compulsion to go up to a wooden object and use it to scratch your body?"

Ripcage just shook his head, frankly too tired to even question the other's words or look at him warily.

"No, eh?" Harry commented thoughtfully. "That's strange. Your wand movement is good, and you're finally able to spell _Leviosa_ correctly. Really, really strange…"

The half-goblin snorted tiredly at that.

"Wingardium Leviosa…" he said in a frustrated tone. "What kind of words are those anyway?"

"They're a crude distortion of both English and Latin," Harry explained vaguely. "They don't make much sense, honestly. I imagine you- Hey! Maybe that's it!"

Ripcage tiredly raised his head from the floor. "What's it?"

"The source of your problem!" the dark-haired boy cheered excitedly. "Those words sound completely foreign to you, more so than me or any other student here!"

A golden brow furrowed above yellow eyes.

"Why is that?"

Harry grinned from ear to ear.

"Gobbledygook!" he exclaimed in triumph.

"Huh?"

"Yes! You grew up with the goblins, so that's pretty much all you heard, at least for the first few years of your life, right?" The Boy-who-lived nodded his head quickly. "That's your first language, isn't it?"

Rip's eyes slowly started getting wider and, unnoticed to him, so did Harry's, who was suddenly struck by an incredible idea.

"Translate it into Gobbledygook!" the now animated young Gryffindor all but ordered to his Metamorphmagus friend.

The half-goblin looked at him with a slightly lost look as he stood up. "I-I-I don't even know what Wingardium Leviosa means!"

Harry just waved his hands dismissingly and impatiently. "Just try something like hover or fly or maybe high and light. Heck, try them all!"

Ripcage slowly did as instructed, the guttural words of his mother-language rolling out of his mouth with some nervousness. But much to his surprise and delight, the feather on the desk hovered just a tiny bit before dropping down back again.

"I-I did it!" the half-goblin whispered excitedly, his hair and eyes changing color ever so rapidly.

"What words did you use?" Harry immediately demanded, now with a notebook in his hands.

Rip told him and then repeated everything over and over, until the feather stayed steadily in the air for ten long seconds. He laughed out loud after that, feeling more elated than any time he could remember, and Harry looked pretty much as happy as him as he wrote down some things on the paper.

"Yes!" he shouted with a crazed look in his eyes. "I have it!"

"What?" the other first-year Gryffindor asked curiously, still smiling widely.

"The first English-Gobbledygook dictionary ever!"

Ripcage couldn't help but snort at that. "You only have, what? Four headwords?"

"Five," the dark-haired boy corrected at once. "And we'll review every spell they taught and will teach us until I'll have the whole bloody language down!"

Ripcage laughed openly. "It will take a long time."

"We have seven years, haven't we?"

"Right." The half-goblin shook his head. "And knowing a language isn't only about knowing words."

"I know _that_," Harry countered with a large grin. "But you'll help me. You owe me big time now."

Ripcage mulled it over in his head for a long second, chewing his lower lip as he did.

"But you have to promise me-"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" the other exulted at once, pumping a fist in the air. "I did it! I fucking promise you whatever you want! I'll fucking respect The Fucking Pact! I fucking did it!"

Apparently, the situation required some swearing.

Harry then started performing some victory gig and the half-goblin could only roll his eyes at such display of childishness and supposed maturity one next to the other. A smile was tugging up the corner of his lips, though.

They ended up staying up late that night, in the very first Gobbledygook lesson any human had ever assisted to. Only the basics for the moment, but Harry Potter couldn't stop grinning wildly all the while.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"UP!"

The single word resonated through the lawn of Hogwarts as all the first years of both Gryffindor and Slytherin House stood next to a broomstick on the ground to start the very first flying lesson of their life.

Harry's broom was one of the few to jump immediately into its owner's hands, while the majority of the students was left repeating the order again and again. The dark-haired boy looked around a little before narrowing his eyes. Broom in hand, he walked up to his friend Neville and watched his sweaty and nervous expression closely.

A beat later, he whacked the boy right on the head with his own broom. Hard.

"Owww!" Neville whined, actually jumping away, startled. "What was that for, Harry?"

The question was followed by another blow – which actually hit the boy's fingers rather than his head – and the Gryffindor pureblood cried out again.

"Owww! It hurts! Stop it!"

"It hurts, you say?" Harry repeated, advancing menacingly towards the retreating boy. He whacked him on the head once more. "At least I'm giving you a good reason for being scared of a broom. Come here!"

Neville hid behind a slightly less nervous Hermione instead.

"A broom can't hurt you," the boy-who-lived commented with a gleam in his eyes, "unless it's in my hands, that is. Stop being afraid of one lying harmlessly on the ground!"

"I'm more worried about that same broom, but once is between my legs," Hermione said coming to her fellow Gryffindor's defense. Neville, still behind her, nodded in agreement.

Harry looked at her strangely for a long second. "You might want to keep that particular sentence to yourself when in front of older people… although your Dad could appreciate it."

A confused expression formed on her face. "Why?"

"Never mind that… anyway, what are you worried about? If you don't want to fall from too high, then fly just a few inches off the ground. If you are afraid of flying too fast, then fly slowly," Harry said simply, finally lowering his, err… weapon. "You control the broom, no?"

"Actually," Neville countered, coming out from behind Hermione, "that's what I'm afraid of. Not being able to control it."

Harry quickly hit him on the head again.

"Owww!"

"I'm controlling mine, am I not?"

"Harry, stop it!" Hermione scolded him. That earned her a whack of her own. "Hey!"

The dark-haired boy grinned at her. "Sorry, my hand slipped." He started advancing towards her when something hit him on the head.

He turned around and saw Neville, his own broomstick gripped tightly between clammy fingers, looking at it as if he hadn't meant to use it and was surprised himself.

"Ah, is that so?" Harry said in a crazed voice. "Then take this!"

He hit the clumsy boy a few times, fending off his feeble counters, until Hermione joined the fray as well, broom waving dangerously over her head. The other students around them rushed away.

"Way to go, Hermione!" Dean cheered from a safe position.

Two on one, the duo managed to whack Harry twice and to defend themselves, before Madame Hooch came down screeching like a vulture and put a stop to the brawl.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing? Potter, stop it!"

All three kids were grinning when the teacher took back their brooms. She took a closer look at the magical objects to see if they were damaged but noted with relief they weren't. Harry giggled a little while rubbing his bruised forehead lightly.

"See?" he said simply to his friends but didn't get any reply but for their anxious panting.

Madame Hooch raised her eyes upon the boy-who-lived and glared.

"What was the meaning of this?" she scolded. "Brooms aren't meant to be used to play like that! You could have broken them! You could have hurt yourselves as well!"

Hermione lost her smile at once when the woman's gaze shifted to her, while Neville's was still lingering slightly on his lips.

"I was just teaching them a lesson," Harry explained. "People always tell me I'm good at it."

The woman actually growled. "Leave teaching to me for now. Better split you up. Come with me to the other side, hurry." She beckoned Harry to follow her and ordered him and the other students to put their brooms back on the ground. "Let's see you using it properly now," she said almost challenging.

"Up!" everyone shouted again, and Madame Hooch watched as the boy easily succeeded. She nodded grudgingly and then proceeded to explain how to grip and mount the broom correctly.

"Do you already know how to fly, Potter?" she asked with a gruff voice, seeing as he was handling the magical object perfectly. The boy just smiled creepily in answer, leaving her murmuring under her breath, "Weird kid…"

After everyone had grasped how to properly mount on the broom, Madame Hooch explained how to take flight and instructed them to hover in the air for just a few seconds before returning to the ground. Everyone did just that at her whistle with various degrees of success. Some took off just a few feet, some others wobbled dangerously all the time, some others still landed very awkwardly. All in all, though, everyone got back to the ground safely.

"Very well," Madame Hooch complimented. She corrected the mistakes she had noticed and then ordered, "We'll do a slow lap around the field, now. Stay steadily leaned forward and direct the handle of your broom where you want it to go, as is to say, following me." She mounted on her sparkly new Cleansweep Seven and took off together with her students.

Something went wrong this time around. A Slytherin first year, Tracy McDavis, shot up way too high, twenty feet above the ground even, finally losing control of her broom and slipping sideways. She fell down with a nasty crack and, after a moment of silence, howled in pain.

Madame Hooch was back on the ground and bending over her in an instant, followed more shakily by the first years around her.

"Broken wrist," she murmured, taking a look at the girl. "Come on, it's all right. Up you get!"

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this girl to the hospital wing! You stay with your feet well on the ground or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Harry felt like he should have remembered something at that point, while watching Tracy hobble off with Madame Hooch. The scene just occurred had felt somewhat familiar in its clumsiness, but he couldn't really remember why…

Oh well… he had long since known that his memory, and his mind in general, was a conveniently selective being, some times acting on its own hidden agenda even. The truth would pop up in his head at the most opportune moment, probably screwing him over or making him look even weirder than he already was.

It always did that.

He turned around as some ruckus started behind him. He saw Malfoy mocking Neville while holding something above his head, and decided to make his way over there.

"Give it back!" the clumsy Gryffindor was saying somewhat heatedly. "Gran gave me that!"

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for you to find," the Slytherin commented with a smirk. "How about… up a tree?"

He noticed Harry walking towards him and immediately leapt onto his broomstick, taking off.

"Come and get it if you can!" he yelled tauntingly from high above.

Surprisingly, Neville tried to. He took his broomstick with shaky hands and mounted it.

"No!" Hermione shouted. "Madam Hooch told us not to move! She has scolded us once already! You'll get expelled!"

The boy looked very pale at the reminder, or maybe it was because of what he was about to do. Whatever the case, he kicked off from the ground and hovered there for a few moments before pointing the broom skywards. It didn't last long. He wasn't nearly good enough yet. Instead of going up, he came spiralling down dangerously and only Harry's intervention stopped him from hurting himself.

The boy-who-lived blocked the other's descent with his shoulder and managed to balance him with his arms, while Malfoy laughed overhead. When Neville was safely on the ground again, surprisingly looking more angry than scared, Harry took the boy's broomstick from the ground and flippantly asked, "May I?"

He didn't wait for an answer and just mounted it with ease, ignoring Hermione's warnings of incoming educational doom. He shot up through the air and towards Malfoy, facing him calmly.

"Give it here, please," he said, not even knowing what _it_ was.

"Take it yourself," the Slytherin sneered and Harry blinked once at that.

"Okay," he said simply, darting forward like an arrow. The blond boy dodged him by a whisker, but looked a fairly bit paler after that. Harry veered around to attack again, but Malfoy apparently had had enough.

"Catch it if you can!" he screeched high-pitchedly and threw a glass-looking ball high into the air before going back to the ground.

The young Gryffindor acted on instincts, while his mind processed that the object was a Remembrall and that seeing it flying away felt familiar once again. He leaned forward and pointed his broom's handle down. Gathering speed in a steep dive, he enjoyed the wind rushing at his face as he reached out with his hand and caught the magical object. He pulled his broom straight with a firm and yet gentle tug and felt the grass of Hogwarts' lane brush the sole of his feet.

The Remembrall had grown scarlet as soon as he had clutched it and Harry was wondering what was he possibly forgetting, when a Sonorus-enhanced voice reached his ears.

"HARRY POTTER!"

Turning the broom to the cluster of people assembled behind him, he saw Minerva McGonagall running towards them.

"Oh," he said, comprehension descending on his features in the form of a quite dim-witted expression. "That was it."

The Remembrall stopped glowing a beat later.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO


End file.
